The Scarlet Window
by kookith
Summary: AU. NxN, slight MxM. When Arnold Neumann, along with his childhood friend Murrue, had accepted Mwu's invitation to go with him to visit his three cousins in Dominion Hall, he hadn't expected that they would be unwelcomed guests. But there was a reason why the three girls were so secretive, and he would find out soon enough…
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Her earliest memories were of her Papa and Mama, together with her, living in a small, old house on the outskirts of town. The street they lived on was lined with similar, unseemly houses; crowded enough to feel lost if one did not pay attention, but sparse enough to not feel suffocated. When the sun shone, the place was bright and colourful, but when it rained, it was cold and grey, the darkest place she had ever known. The people around had faces so common that have all blurred into one odd and vague impression, but she remembers that they were nice and friendly; like the plump lady next door who always smelled of honey and fresh bread, whose door she would knock on to ask for sugar to bring back to Mama, or the boy living down the street, slightly older than her, who would sometimes come for her in the afternoon and take her outside to play with his friends.

Every day Papa would leave at the break of dawn, and would not return till after dusk fell; because of Papa's hard work they had this lovely place called home, which Mama would always remind her, and so every time Papa came home she would run to the door to meet him, and he would swoop her up into his strong arms so she could give him a hug as a thank you for that day's hard work. Mama would always be following close behind, with the brightest smile on her face. Papa would then give them each a kiss on the cheek; always Mama first, then her turn, and after that he would carry her in one arm and his other hand holding Mama's as they made their way to the small, crammed kitchen for dinner.

They would talk about their day, things they had seen, people they met, and everything else that came to mind. They were always happy, and although she did not have nice clothes to wear, or the fancy candies she saw in the stores, she did not mind, because having Mama and Papa was enough for her. But sometimes, she wondered if she was enough for Mama and Papa to be happy; times when she heard Mama whispering quietly to Papa, her beautiful features warped with worry and Papa's handsome face strained like hers. Mama would run her hand tenderly through his smooth, dark hair, and he would catch hold of her hand to hold it against his face, telling her not to worry, that those people would not find them; that even if they did find them, there was nothing they could do anymore. On those nights Papa would come to her bedside, thinking she was asleep when she was only pretending to be, and he would stroke lightly on her long hair—soft and dark like his—and call her his sweet, darling girl. She would start to fall asleep, his voice her lullaby as she drifted off into her land of dreams. Little did she know then that soon enough, in her dreams was the only place she would ever see her dearest Papa again.

It came to them one grey, summer afternoon, with that knock on the door—too late to be the postman, who very seldom came anyway, but too early to be Papa. Mama went to the door, and out of curiosity she got up from the floor to follow her, leaving in her place Papa's favourite book which she had been trying forever to learn its difficult words and lengthy sentences. The guest took his hat off and placed it in front of his chest as he gave a quick nod to Mama and her; she frowned, because she had never met him before, but he introduced himself and said he worked with Papa, which Mama nodded in return, so it must be alright. He spoke a few words and paused; she had not been able to understand him clearly, but she heard Mama gasp, and reached one arm around her shoulder to pull her small body close against her own, her other hand up to cover her paled lips as she whispered to herself that this wasn't happening. What wasn't happening? What did this strange man say to Mama? She looked at the man who seemed awfully troubled as he gave a deep bow and apologised to Mama, then turned around and left. Mama closed the door behind him, and—like those puppets she saw other children play with when the strings were let loose—her Mama fell to the floor, held her close as she wept against her tiny chest, crying Papa's name; she cried till her throat was too tired to make another noise, her eyes too dry to let another tear. And Natarle knew, there and then, that Papa was gone forever.

* * *

**Edited on 19 Oct 2014**


	2. The Colours of Distance

**The Colours of Distance**

He checked his pocket-watch again. For the last half an hour, all he saw were trees. The journey took long enough, and his back was aching from this endless ride, but they had passed through a gate not long ago, so they must be close now.

"We're almost there," his friend sitting across tells him, as if he heard his thoughts. "We just passed through the west front gate; it's through the grove and then we'll see the main gate. Can't believe it's been a year already," the man whispers the last few words to himself with an oddly heavy tone as he ran his fingers through his curly blond hair.

"What was it called again, Mwu?"

"Dominion Hall."

'_Dominion Hall',_ Arnold Neumann repeats in his mind. It was interesting enough that Mwu would invite guests to a house that was not his own but belonging to his cousins, a place where he visited only during his childhood summers or on the family's special occasions. He was Mwu La Fllaga, only child and heir to Lord Al Da Fllaga's legacy; would it not be more appropriate that he entertained his guests at his own house? But he insisted, because he missed his cousins, and they needed visitors as well to liven up the manor, or so he claimed.

'A house of misfortune' was what he would sometimes call it. It originally belonged to Frederick Allster, his maternal grandfather—father of four, which Mwu's mother Rosette was the third child. The eldest was his uncle, George, second was Aunt Katherine, and the last child was named Elysse, whose untimely death came at the young age of thirteen, when his mother and her siblings were all still youths. The house was supposed to pass on to George, but sickness claimed him even before his aged father, and so the inheritance went instead to the next male heir, Muruta Azrael—son of Brandon and Katherine Azrael, older than Mwu by two years.

"But he's been missing since last year. He does it sometimes, run off for days—or even weeks—when he's upset, and then coming back as if nothing happened. But he's never been away for this long. We're still waiting for him to come back; the girls are worried."

"The girls?"

"Muruta's younger sister, Stellar, and our cousins from Uncle George's side, Natarle and Fllay. They had been living here since before the house was given to Muruta, so he let them stay. Yet whenever Aunt Kathy asks to visit, he refuses and says it's too crowded. Dominion Hall being crowded? Rubbish, he just doesn't want to see her; they've been on bad terms for a very long time."

"Is that so?" Arnold raised a questioning brow at Mwu, and he gave a casual shrug as his response as though suddenly he did not care about the topic they were discussing anymore. Usually a straightforward person, it was unlike Mwu to ramble like he just did, nor would he normally make such subjective comments on another person, and it made Arnold curious what kind of relationship he had with those living in the manor.

"Hmm?" The sound came from beside Mwu, their female companion who was napping throughout the journey with her head comfortably propped against his shoulder finally started to wake. She stirred for a bit, then slowly opened her eyes, her hand brushing away the stray locks of wavy brown hair that fell on her face. "Are we there yet?"

"Almost," his voice cheerful again as it usually was, Mwu turned to give young woman a smile. "Look, Murrue, that's the main gate."

Following the direction of Mwu's pointing finger the young woman and Arnold both looked outside their carriage window, and they saw the large iron gate slowly closing in, where beyond the ornately crafted black and gold metal bars was a path that led towards a running fountain, and not far behind it their destination.

It was simply breathtaking, just as Mwu had told them. The beautiful large manor was built from brick and stone, with detailed designs along every edge and corner and its numerous glass windows all gleaming under the radiant sun. Arnold could see some parts of the garden behind the manor, and in the far distance to its side was a lake, the clear water reflecting the blue sky like a mirror. The architecture was much larger than he had expected, but his misconception was mostly Mwu's fault; him calling this manor a house was not doing it justice—to call it a castle would have been a more appropriate description. He immediately took a liking towards the place; unlike most houses he had been to—his own included—which had more contemporary designs, thus more boring in his view, this place had an ancient air around it, an air that instantly drew his interest. It echoed of histories and legends, of stories of the generations before them that dwelled here, and he could not wait to see more of it.

The trotting horses came to a halt, stopping their carriage in front of the entrance after coming around half of the circular path surrounding the fountain, and Mwu was so eager to get out that he nearly leaped off his ride. He turned back and reached a hand out, helping his female companion off the carriage, and Arnold was the last to step down. About half a dozen of the household staff was lined to one side, while on the other stood three young ladies awaiting their arrival—one was of similar age to him and his friends, the other two were younger girls. Before Arnold could take a more detailed look one of the girls ran straight towards Mwu and jumped right into his embrace.

"Stellar has missed you, Mwu! Stellar has missed you so much!" She stretched herself upwards to hang her arms around his neck, while he bent down a bit to allow the girl a stronger hold onto him. "I missed you too, Stellar. Have you been a good girl?" he asked as he let the girl back onto her feet.

"Yes!" She nodded with fierce enthusiasm and a wide smile on her doll-like face, her shoulder-length golden tresses glimmering by the movement of her head. She was the most petite of the three ladies, and which, as Arnold recalled Mwu's small rant on the coach, she was also the younger sister of the estate's owner.

"Let me introduce you, this is Stellar." The girl, hearing her name being mentioned, quickly shed her friskiness and curtseyed to her guests in a graceful manner, greeting them politely, "Welcome to Dominion Hall."

"Yes, we've been looking forward to your arrival since Mwu told us you were coming," a chirpy voice sounded. It was the other girl around the same age as Stellar, who had come towards them with most welcoming smile across her lips. The girl was an equally pretty child; with her flame-red hair and grey-blue eyes she had less of Stellar's daintiness, but a more frivolous glamour. "I'm Fllay, nice to meet you all," she smiled. Then, gesturing towards the remaining person, she introduced, "And that's my sister, Natarle."

The lastly named woman stood still in her place, showing no intention of coming forward to greet her guests. Arnold studied her quickly from where he stood; she had a gorgeous face, a kind of beauty that was unlike the two younger girls—icy and distant, if he must compare them by first impressions—but that was not what stunned Arnold most; it was because her black hair—with a tinge of violet when grazed by the sunlight—was cut so short that along with her tall and lean figure, one could have easily mistaken her for a man if she were not wearing a dress. He had never known of any woman to be so daring to wear her hair this short, and even though he had yet to know her, he could already tell she was one who did not care much about how the world thought of her. And the dress, how plain it was for a person living in such a grand house; its colour was a dull dark blue and its style simple, much different to those very fancy and elaborate dresses the two other girls wore, but from the texture and the tailoring one could tell it was still a dress of fine quality. All that put together gave him the impression that she knew clearly the most prized qualities of a woman, and had deliberately presented herself in the contrary, which he found her boldness quite remarkable. He bowed his head lightly as to extend his appreciation to being a guest of the manor, but she gave no response except for a bitingly cold stare and quiet growl of impatience. "Mr. Halberton," she called of a name, the only words she spoke before she turned around to return inside.

The man from the front of the line of servants stepped forward obediently with a small bow at the woman as she left, and turned back towards them to introduce himself. "Sir, welcome back. Mr. Neumann and Miss Ramius, welcome to Dominion Hall. I hope your journey was well. My name is Lewis Halberton, I serve as the butler here, and this is the housekeeper, Mrs. Erica Simmons," he gestured to the woman standing next to him, who smiled respectfully at them with a swift curtsy. "We will be here to take care of your every need."

"Thank you, Mr. Halberton," Murrue beside him spoke, "I hope our presence here is not too troublesome, we did not mean to upset anyone."

Mwu softly patted on her shoulder to comfort her. "Don't worry, it's alright. I'll explain later. Lewis, could you have the servants bring their luggage upstairs and show them their rooms? And we will have tea afterwards."

"Yes, Sir," Lewis nodded dutifully, and the servants immediately scattered, each busying themselves with their tasks in a self-knowing manner without any need for further instructions.

o-o-o

Arnold was being led down the corridors by the same maid who showed him to his room, which he had turned many corners and passed numerous identical looking doors that he started to wonder if this place was designed as a maze to lose people within itself. The girl slowed down in front of him as they reached a certain set of doors; he heard sounds of people talking from behind them, and he knew he had reached the room he needed to go to.

The doors were opened for him and he entered, and saw that Mwu was already comfortably sat on the sofa, Stellar and Fllay engaged in a lively conversation with Murrue, giggling amongst themselves as if they were already old friends.

"Oh there he is!" Fllay said the moment she spotted him. "Lovely, we can start now."

"But Natarle's not here yet, shouldn't we wait for her as well?" Murrue asked with a whiff of worry in her voice. It was expected that she would have such a concern—given how the hostess received their arrival at the manor, the rest of their stay would be most awkward if they could not conciliate her, or at least understand the cause for her hostility. This was particularly so for Murrue—she was an amiable woman who disliked making hasty judgements, and had a gift of being able to find good in everything and become instant friends with anyone; it was simply impossible to ask her to accept someone as disagreeable before giving her the chance to know this person first.

"Natarle won't be coming," Mwu said as he shifted to one side of the sofa to make room for Arnold, resting his elbow on the arm of the edge and a finger tapping at his temple as if he was giving the question some thought. "Judging by the way she welcomed us? Nope, I don't think so."

"Oh…" Murrue decided not to push the matter, but from her tone they could all hear her disappointment.

"I apologise for my sister's behaviour earlier," Fllay said, laying down her tea on the side table untouched. "She's not a bad person, she's just not quite prepared to have visitors. It wasn't her intention to- to…" The inevitable pause came as she struggled for words, and she lifted her hand and placed her fingers on her lips tentatively, like she had spoken it all wrong and needed to take it back.

"You can't say she didn't _mean_ it. You do know how she doesn't want guests here." Mwu said, helping Fllay out of her entrapment. But the tone in his voice hinted of an admittance of fault, his face turned away towards the window to avoid the stare of everyone around him. "I know it's a bad start, for _all _of us. It'll be better, when she gets used to it. And really, she needs the distraction."

"It's actually Stellar's fault, and Stellar is sorry." It was Stellar who spoke this time, in a timid voice different to the lively her that came to greet Mwu at the entrance. "Stellar was the one who insisted Mwu to come, and to bring friends with him. A lot of things had happened last year, and it's been difficult for us, but Natarle took it particularly hard. Stellar just thought… it'd be nice to have some more people around to cheer Natarle up. Please don't feel that you're unwelcome here, that's not true. We'd really like to get to know you, to make some new friends and have people to spend time with."

Arnold caught her staring at him keenly, and understood that this was not something she was saying just to make the situation less awkward; her words were sincere. He smiled politely in attempt to ease her discomfort. "It's my pleasure. Thank you for the invitation, you are all so kind, and this place is beautiful; I think I will enjoy my stay very much."

It was strange, he thought, how the cousins reacted. It was really not a big deal, at least not for him, to receive a less than warm welcome at his arrival; it certainly was not the norm, but it was not a complete disaster either. Yet Mwu and the two girls kept trying to take responsibility for something that was in fact not their doing and made so much effort to convince them to stay for the young woman's sake, while the one who committed the offence did not even bother to show up.

How does a person surrounded by so much kindness become so indifferent?

o-o-o

She finally showed up at dinner. Arnold had guessed she would probably skip the meal altogether to continue avoiding them, but Mwu said that she was very disciplined when it came to house rules, and since dinner was the most formal meal of the day, she must turn up unless with a very valid reason. His words were confirmed by Lewis, who reported to them when they arrived at the dinning room slightly earlier than needed, that _"Miss Natarle has some errands to take care of, but will be joining shortly,"_ as to mean that they must wait for the hostess before they could start dinner.

She made her entrance with a swift stride and in absolute silence, and promptly took her seat at the head of the table as if she had not noticed any of them there—save for Fllay and Stellar, when Arnold observed for a bit longer, that Stellar had smiled intently at her and she had no choice but look the girl in the eye, and she made the slightest shift in movement when Fllay giggled at their quick exchange of glances. It seemed Lewis had either put in a great deal of thought in seating them, or none at all, but Arnold chose to believe it was the former. The man must have feared how drastically indecorous it would be to have his mistress entertain the very guests she intended to ignore, and placing him and Murrue at the other end of the table with Mwu was a much cleverer option.

Dinner proceeded satisfactorily, but Natarle had stayed quiet throughout, despite Fllay and Stellar's attempts to engage her into the conversations. Arnold could not determine whether she had been genuinely disregarding their presence, or was in fact listening quietly to their discussions but opted not to participate, but he had more than once caught her stealing a quick look towards their direction, and he wondered if she had done so out of curiosity or disdain.

Which was why he was surprised, when they retired to the drawing room after dinner—the same room they spent their afternoon in—that Natarle had decided to join them. She took her seat on the sofa he and Mwu did earlier, with Fllay sat down next to her and linked her arm into Natarle's while Stellar sat on the floor at their feet, her arms crossed in front of her and laid onto Natarle's lap with her head resting affectionately on top. It would have been a picturesque moment, perfectly serene—if not for the unfittingly distracted look on the woman's face.

On the other side, Mwu and Murrue stood in a corner near the balcony window, clearly enjoying their private conversation judging by the sweet laughs and soft sighs that came from their direction. With nothing much to do Arnold chose an armchair nearby the window, where he could better enjoy the summer night breezes.

"Murrue!" Fllay said amidst a fit of giggles. "Please come over, there's something Stellar and I would like to ask you."

"Oh, and what would that be?" Murrue asked as she made her way towards the girls. Mwu wanted to follow, but Stellar was quick to stop him, "Mwu, stay where you are now. It's girls' talk."

With a huff Mwu stood still, looking slightly displeased. Then as if she had been waiting forever for this moment, Natarle shot up from her seat and made her way to Mwu, grabbing him by his arm towards the other end of the line of windows. "We have to talk."

Arnold did not mean to eavesdrop, but he could not help having a good ear, and the windows were closed, all except the one behind him to the left, which they had the effect of echoing the sounds coming from where they stood, allowing him to catch the louder whispers of their hushed conversation.

"-but they will know!"

"Not if we are careful."

"But Fllay-"

"_Fllay_ will manage perfectly fine. _You_ of all people should have faith in her."

Their talk came to an abrupt end after Mwu's declaration, and for one moment Arnold thought they had stopped because they discovered he could hear them. He looked up to confirm, and to his relief his guess was wrong—instead, Natarle had stood like a frozen statue with her head down in unwilling resignation, the expression on her face telling of Mwu's unquestionable victory in their debate. Seconds passed like minutes as Arnold waited to see what would happen, and when she finally looked up she caught his stare, her violet eyes distant and miserable—the eyes of a person who had given up the fight.

It was sad, and it was beautiful; this was the exact moment the impression of her had been forever etched into Arnold's mind, accompanying her not the scenery of the furbished room, nor the remembrance of her standing at the entrance of the manor, the first moment he had ever set his eyes on her; it was none of those, but of a haze of colours—of charcoal greys and midnight purples and ocean blues; of cold, lonely colours of the starless night.

* * *

**Author's note**

So there you go, the first two chapters of the story!

For those who have been around long enough to know who I am (or read the stories I've posted before), you will know that I'm horrible at getting updates done. But not this time! I have already finished writing up the whole story and did a first round of proof-reading, and since most of the work is already done, I'll try to update once a week, and depending on the chapter length, _maybe_ twice in the same week if one of the chapters is a super short one.

My first proper story, and by proper I mean it's got a start and an end, plus a well thought-out plot (I guess. I _hope_.). Chapters are short, averaging around 2-3k words each (but then this is already longer than what I used to do in the past), mainly because I like to keep them in a manageable length, plus it's easier that way for me to work the plot. There are 49 chapters, which means if you're staying with me throughout the whole story you'll have about 10 months to a year's supply of reading material. Lol. If you're not, then um, oh well, at least thanks for reading these two chapters. *shrugs*

Mind you, there will be some OOCness, simply due to the AU nature of the story. I've tried my best to keep them in character, but please try to understand if they aren't exactly as they were in the original. Ages also are not the same as in the original in order for the story to work out properly, but I suppose that shouldn't be a huge issue?

As always, would love to hear your comments! Any comments are good, just no flames please. :)


	3. ONE

**ONE**

Natarle did not know who this man was, and how he came to find them, but she knew from the reaction Mama gave when he appeared at their door—a frightful gasp and an immediate attempt to shut him out—that he was one of those people she and Papa wished would not find them. He was strong, like Papa and all the other grown up men, and he easily prised the door open despite Mama's effort to keep it shut with him outside. "There's no point now, Ellie," he said, and as simple as that Mama gave up the fight.

Curiously Mama was not afraid of him, nor did it seem like he was going to do harm to Mama or her, like she had always feared. Whenever Mama and Papa talked of 'those people', she thought of brutes and monsters, but this man was civilized, and very gentlemanly. His clothes were clean and well-fitted, with shiny buttons attached and a silk tie around his neck, and it looked nothing like what the people living on their street wore. She remembers a photo kept in Mama's drawer—of Mama dressed in a beautiful gown and Papa wearing this kind of clothes, and together they looked a very handsome couple.

She hid behind her Mama all along, following as closely as she could when Mama led the gentleman inside. He took a seat on one of the wooden chairs in the sitting room as Mama went into the kitchen to prepare tea, and she did not want to be left alone with him, so she hurriedly followed Mama's steps. As Mama stood by the stove waiting for the kettle to boil, she spotted a look on Mama's face she had seen only once before, on that day not long after Papa was gone—the day which they all wore black, at something called a funeral—her brows were pushed together towards the top of her nose bridge, her eyes tightly closed and lips pulled thin, and her hand would reach for the silver pendant around her neck, laid back down, and reached up again, like she couldn't decide where she wanted to rest it. Was this called sadness, or was it worry? Was it both, or was it neither, and something else entirely? She tugged lightly onto Mama's apron, and Mama turned to look at her, then slowly she placed her palm on the top of her small head and ran it down to her cheek. "It's alright. We'll be alright."

She did not want to be near that man, so she stayed in the kitchen, hiding behind the door frame to watch as Mama went into the sitting room to join their guest. Mama passed him his tea, and spoke in a tone she had never heard before; it was still her usual calm, soft voice, but there was also rare impatience and tiredness in it. "You never gave up."

The gentleman sighed so heavily that she thought it was deliberate. "Did you think you could hide forever?"

"No, but we meant to try, and certainly had hoped to succeed."

"I'm glad I've found you. I can't imagine you of all people living here in this- this shabby, awful… _shack_. "

"This awful shack is my home."

"Your home should be in a grand house with servants to attend on you, beautiful dresses to wear, and fine food for meals. You are _Elizabeth Crawford_. And he… he was the heir to one of the largest estates in the country. How did you two end up like this?"

There was a long pause, and she looked over to her Mama. She could not understand any of this conversation, but Papa had once told her that there were a lot of things children would not understand until after they grew up, so she decided to leave her questions at the very back of her mind and continue to wait patiently. Then, when Mama had finally found her answer, she spoke quieter than before, "Because we couldn't make the choices we wanted to."

"Ellie-"

"We never regretted it. Even though things didn't turn out as we had wished, and now with Edward gone… But it's been the happiest time of my life. I'm sorry we had to run away, and I never properly apologised to you; that letter I left you—I was hoping to explain everything, but it must have made you more confused. I'm sorry… that I had given you so much trouble."

"It wasn't the trouble of the aftermath that upset me; it did too, of course, but it was more about you leaving me. Two weeks before our wedding."

"I'm so sorry."

"We grew up together. You only knew him for six months, but you still chose to go with him."

"I'm sorry. But Eddie was… he was my world."

The man did not respond any further, as though Mama's hushed words had such power that they could silence him without even trying.

It was quiet for a very long time, and she began to drift asleep until she heard some shuffling, and as she looked back into the sitting room she saw the man rise from his seat and put on his coat, and Mama standing as well to lead him to the door. She quickly got up to follow behind Mama and see that gentleman out the door. He opened the door, then turned around and lowered himself so he was kneeling at the same height she was, and he smiled. "You have your mother's beautiful face."

That was what Papa had always told her. _"You look exactly like your mother, but your dark hair is mine. You will grow up to be such a fine, beautiful lady, my sweet girl."_

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The gentleman came back to visit again, two weeks after that first time, and continued to do so for a period of time. He would come twice a week, sometimes more frequent, sometimes less. He began bringing presents; food, new clothes, and even sweets. He would try to make conversations with her when Mama was busy readying lunch or afternoon tea, and she would talk politely, just as Mama taught her to. _"Papa would have been so proud of you,"_ Mama would say, and give her a smile so bright that would keep her happy for the rest of the day.

And one day, when the man had left after lunching with them, Mama sat her down on a chair and knelt down in front of her, leaning in close and resting her hands carefully onto her lap, as if comforting her.

"Tell me, darling, do you like that gentleman?"

Did she? She did not dislike him, that she knew, but she was not sure whether she liked him either. She simply thought of that man as someone she would see every so often, a person who was familiar but strange at the same time. She shrugged, with a slight tilt of the head and a puzzled look on her face.

Mama smiled. "You don't know what to think, do you? It's alright. What do you say if we went to live with him?"

This time she tipped her head down, as if using all the energy she can muster to think through this question. She looked back up again, and gave another stiff shrug.

"To live with him, like a family. For him to become your father."

The word shook her deeply, and she sat up instinctively like she had been hit on the back. "But he's not Papa."

"No, sweetheart, he's not Papa. He won't be; he _can't_ be."

"But my father is Papa."

"Yes, he is. But Papa is no longer here, and there are things that even Mama cannot do. Mama will never leave you, this I promise. I will do everything I can to protect you, to keep you safe, but I fear even that is not enough; I may have the willpower, but I don't have the strength, and I am afraid."

"Mama." She moved forward and wrapped her small arms firmly around her Mama's neck. Mama's soft violet hair had the sweet smell of flowers, and it felt so comforting. She just wanted to stay like this, in her Mama's embrace. Papa was gone; it was only Mama and her left, and she wanted them to be together forever.

"Wherever Mama goes, I will go too."

* * *

**Author's note**

I know, I know, this chapter, like the prologue, _still_ doesn't tell you much about what's really going on… I ask that you be patient with me for just one or two more chapters, and you'll find out. Pretty please? (But then, *hint hint* if you've been paying attention to the finer details, use a bit of imagination and you would probably be able to make an accurate guess.)

Thanks very much for the reviews! I couldn't reply directly to both of you, because you weren't logged in, so I hope it's ok if I reply you here.

**To strike rouge:** Though the first two chapters weren't very meaty in terms of storytelling, I'm glad you still found it interesting! Rest assured, there will definitely be more!

**To Aya:** O. M. G. You are so sharp! I was going to say this in this chapter's Author's Note anyway, but you caught it first! Yes, I deliberately used all the characters voiced by Houko Kuwashima, and this was actually one of the main inspirations when I started working on the story plot.

I have _always_ wanted to write a story centred on the "Houko Kuwashima sisters". *sniggers* For those who've never heard the original Japanese dub, Houko Kuwashima is the seiyu who voiced Natarle, Fllay, and Stellar. Yes, all three of them (and done an amazing job at that!). Which is why sometimes in the Japanese fanart you see works of them three together, despite Stellar had never met the other two in the story. Absolutely adorable stuff, I tell you!

And one final note: when I was updating this chapter, I noticed that FF's system did something to the formatting for the previous chapter and deleted the section breaks in my original document, which made the flow quite awkward. It took me a while to fix it, because FF's system seems very restrictive. Anyway, I've put back the breaks into my previous chapter now.

That's it for this week's update… I'd love to hear your comments!

**Edited on 19 Oct 2014**


	4. Portraits and Windows

**Portraits and Windows**

"So what would you two like to do today?" asked Mwu, who had slumped into his seat with one arm hanging casually onto the back of the long sofa while using his free hand to stifle his yawn.

He had just finished breakfast with Arnold and Murrue, and had moved to the morning room where they found Fllay and Stellar sat there, having already had their breakfast before them. Natarle was there with them at the meal, and usually she would have come to the morning room too as that was her routine, but ever since the guests' arrival she refused to join them, and it was not difficult to see why. Fllay had suggested they should give her some time to adapt, so Stellar decided to let her be.

But the awkwardness stayed, hanging in the air like a thin layer of mist, which the two guests could not pretend that it was not there, but felt it was not in their place to acknowledge it either. They gave no reply, with Murrue smiling at them with an unsure shrug, and Arnold humming a careless tune, an obvious show that he was happy to just go with the flow.

"How about we take you on a tour around the house?" Stellar asked with much enthusiasm in her chirpy voice. "It's really a lovely place here; so many different and beautifully decorated rooms. Maybe after a look around you'll find something you like?"

"That's a great idea!" Murrue jumped at the suggestion. "Mwu always talk about how beautiful the place is, and he's gotten me very interested."

Mwu raised a curious eyebrow, not disapproving of Murrue's statement, but seemed a bit surprised by her eagerness. "Do I talk about Dominion Hall a lot?"

"More than you realise," she turned to him, a knowing look in her eyes as she answered him. "So, what will we see first?"

"Hmm," Fllay made an exaggerated sound as if it was a very difficult question. "Let's see, it's rather hazy out there so it's not the best time to see the garden… How about the gallery? We can start with the gallery, then we'll have a look around the rooms. We can go to the garden after lunch; hopefully we'll have a better sun by then."

"Stellar thinks this is a very good plan! Shall we?" Stellar clapped her hands together as she got up from her seat, already impatient to start their tour. Fllay stood up in agreement, and the two girls raced each other to the door like a playful pair of young rabbits, the rest of them only to follow hurriedly behind so as not to lose them.

A few days in this mansion yet it still felt like the first, the corridors and doors and staircases seemed never-ending, and Arnold wondered if they would manage a complete tour of the whole manor within one day. Thankfully he was alright with remembering directions, with a bit of luck this tour would help him familiarise himself with the place so that he would not be needing anymore help to find his way around.

They came to a particularly large set of wooden doors, its chestnut coloured surface decorated with intricate carvings of an elegant design. Stellar stood at the door with her hands on the big brass handles, and looked at them with a proud yet playful smile, as if she were about to open up a treasure chest. "Here we are," she announced, and pushed in with all her strength, the heavy doors opened and revealed to them a huge chamber full of paintings, sculptures, and all sorts of collections.

One by one they had each discovered a different piece of art that took their interest, and the group had soon scattered, each on their own little venture around the chamber. Murrue seemed particularly amazed by the marble statues, roaming around aimlessly to wherever the next piece took her, with Mwu striding behind loyally, eager to offer his explanation wherever it was required.

The two sides of the chamber were lined with paintings of various sizes and people, and Arnold soon found himself stopping in front of each one for a closer study. The subjects of the paintings were mostly people of the Allster family, and the more paintings he saw, the more did he see the traits of the bloodline, the certain features of their faces, eyes and hair that gave them a resemblance of each other. He came to a full size portrait of a mature couple, and the title below its frame wrote 'Frederick and Diana Allster'. The man stood upright, his grey-blue eyes stoic and honey blond hair swept back, one hand behind his back and one on the shoulder of the woman who sat in front. The woman wore a soft smile on her face, her eyes twinkled and maroon hair tied up in a complex twist that sat at the back of her head.

"That's Grandpapa," a voice beside him said. He turned, and saw Fllay standing next to him. "And Grandmother."

"Mwu said your Grandfather doted on you very much," Arnold said with curiosity in his voice.

"Yes. Yes he did," Fllay replied thoughtfully, her fingers brushing lightly on her lips as she looked at the painting; remembering the past, perhaps?

"And your Grandmother?"

"I don't know; they say she was a very kind person. The truth is I never had the chance to meet her. She died soon after giving birth to her last child, long before I was born. I only came to live here when I was six, after Papa died."

She moved on to the next painting, turning back to Arnold and tilted her head slightly, beckoning him to join her.

"This was Papa when he was still a child, and his siblings."

The painting showed four young children—two girls sitting in the middle, the youngest girl in front, and the lone boy, eldest of the four, standing behind. The youngest child had flame red hair, the only one who had inherited this trait from their mother, as all the other three had blond hair like Frederick. "You look a lot like her, that girl in front; the red hair, and the eyes."

"That's what Grandpapa used to say too," Fllay smiled. "She's Elysse, the youngest and Grandpapa's favourite. Not just Grandpapa; she was a sweetheart and everyone loved her. I suppose the reason Grandpapa liked me so much was because of her."

"But she died when she was very young, I heard."

"Yes, she was only thirteen when the accident happened—Mr. Halberton told me about it. She was climbing a tree, and fell to her death. Her decease brought a lot of tension to the house, particularly Grandpapa's relationship with the rest of the family; everything just shifted sideways," she spoke with a careful tone, then decided she did not want to talk further about it. "But enough of that, such a dreadful subject dampens the mood, doesn't it?"

Arnold smiled apologetically as he walked with her down along the wall, until he found Stellar standing across the hall in front of a painting; staring and unmoving, as if the time surrounding her had ceased. In the painting was a young man, the colour of his blond hair like Stellar and the rest of the Allsters; he stood proudly but unsmiling, his baby blue eyes expressionless.

"The person in that portrait is Muruta, Stellar's brother," Fllay explained. "Mwu must have told you already; he's been missing for a few months now."

"It must be really hard for her."

"It's been hard for everyone," she corrected him in a neutral voice, neither accusing nor distressed, like she was only stating a fact. "But we don't talk about him, not if we can help it."

"Um-hmm." He caught the hint, and made sure she knew he did. Fllay headed towards Stellar's direction, and he decided he would not follow so as to avoid bringing up another discomforting topic by mistake. He went across the hall but towards the opposite direction from the two girls, glancing over the paintings for something worth a more detailed look into. Then in that sudden moment, as though his instinct had told him to stop searching, he caught sight of one particular painting, and he stopped in his tracks, his eyes refusing to look away.

It was a portrait of three women—one obviously the mother, and the other two were sisters, the first older than the other by a few years.

'Elizabeth, Natarle and Fllay'.

He would not have believed his eyes, but he was very sure he made no mistake when he read the title again. The two sisters looked much younger than they were now—at least five or six years younger—so this painting must have been completed some time ago, nevertheless they were the same faces; it was undeniably them.

He had found difficulty picturing Natarle wearing her dark hair long like most women do, yet now he was seeing it with his very own eyes. Her hair reached to midway her back, and she wore an elegant white gown, unlike the plain and dark coloured dress he saw her in the day before. She was smiling here, somewhat bashfully, and it was hard to relate this picture of her to the one he met in person. Here she looked very pretty and approachable, exactly like how young ladies should be; the other her was cold and uncaring, always distancing herself from them. But it was exactly this distance that made her more mysterious, more compelling—more _arresting_, the word he decided he needed was, when he realised he that rather liked how she looked now, with those strong eyes, firm posture, that one disheartened glance, and the deep, solitary colours he associated her with—that gave him the unexplainable urge to understand her more.

She had inherited none of the Allster characteristics, but instead looked like a younger version of her mother, almost identical save for the colour of her hair; hers was much darker than her mother's. But he remembered seeing a purple hue in it when under the sun, and he supposed it must have come from her mother's deep violet hair. She held her sister close, hands on her shoulders protectively, and the younger girl was beaming in the affection given.

It felt slightly different in the way the red-haired girl was portrayed in the painting and the way she carried herself now. There was a sparkle in her grey-blue eyes that hinted of mischief, and the way her limbs were held, full of spiritedness, made her more alive than her real-life counterpart; it was as if the painter saw something in her that others could not see, and captured it so well that one could not place it in the real person, but could only find it through his eyes by the means of his art. _'Innocence lost'—_the words rushed into his mind, reviving the earlier conversation he had with the girl; the events in the past year must have matured her greatly.

"Is that Fllay and Natarle?"

Suddenly he found Murrue and Mwu standing next to him, and a surprised look appeared on Murrue's face as she focused her attention on the painting. "They looked so different, particularly Natarle. I never imagined she kept her hair long once."

"Or course she did—don't all girls do the same?" Mwu said in an unbelieving voice, sounding like it was strange for Murrue to even think that way.

"Oh? So you know well what girls are like?" She eyed him back teasingly, then challenged him further with another question, "Then why did she cut her hair?"

"How would I know why? Must have been a whim or something like that. And for your knowledge, I'm not particularly well-acquainted with the female gender; I only know a few girls, but you know what? There is one _particular_ girl that I do know exceptionally well," he replied with an intentional stare at her, causing her to blush.

Their banter was cut short by a loud, uninterested sigh that indicated a clear awareness of the changing atmosphere. "Good Lord, I'm going to go," Arnold rolled his eyes, turning himself around as he gave a dismissive wave of his hand, wanting no part in this conversation between his two friends. "You two can stay here and continue to enjoy each other's company."

"Arnold, wait up!" Murrue scurried behind, looking back to make a face at Mwu, who was now wearing a childish grin as he followed languidly.

o-o-o

They had spent much longer in the gallery than they originally planned, and so they decided to have lunch first, and tour the remainder of the rooms and the garden afterwards.

It was an enjoyable meal, and although Natarle was still_—_as expected_—_absent, Stellar and Fllay had made good hostesses in her place, and the atmosphere grew in their invitingness. The girls, particularly Murrue, were keen to resume their tour after the meal, so they skipped having coffee in the drawing room and went straight for the rooms in the East Wing, and had proceeded towards the chambers in the middle afterwards.

"This is the small parlour. We use this room after meals instead of the drawing room if we have no guests."

Stellar had led them into another room, its layout similar to the drawing room with the long sofas and armchairs, a piano in the corner and a fireplace at the end of the room. It was a bit smaller, but decorated in creamier colours; the wallpapers in soft saffron, furniture in whites and beiges, and it had a more relaxed feel to it.

She showed them around the room, detailing things that might be of their interest. Then she led them out the door again when they were ready to move on, and back down the path they came in.

"We haven't seen that side yet," Murrue pointed towards the opposite direction, the lights in that end of the corridor much dimmer, windows closed and curtains drawn.

"Oh, that corridor leads to the West Wing, but it's closed off now. We don't use the rooms on that side anymore, there's too few of us in this house so it's rather pointless to keep it open," Fllay explained. "It's rather dusty and dark on that side of the house, so it's not in the best shape for guests to visit."

"Ah, alright."

"I'm sorry if we've disappointed you," Fllay shrugged apologetically with a slightly embarrassed smile.

"Oh no, please don't say that, I'm perfectly fine with it. Where to next?"

"The library, it's just around the corner. Right this way."

They followed Stellar's lead, until just as they were about to reach a turn situated next to a staircase when Murrue got distracted by the sight outside the window, and she went closer, her forehead leaning on the window pane to get a better view. "It's beautiful…"

What she saw was the garden they had been talking of in the morning. The weather had cleared and they now understood why the girls had been so eager to show them the place; it was a wondrous sight—the grand garden stretched beyond the two wings of the manor, surrounded by carefully trimmed hedges and sectioned symmetrically with a delicate balance of flora, the summer flowers in full bloom; a gazebo sat in the middle of the landscape, and there was a fountain, smaller than the one on the front side, not far from the entrance to the grounds where a pair of marble statues stood.

"May we go see the garden, please?" Murrue asked, her excitement glittering in her amber eyes.

Fllay and Stellar looked at each other, and in sync a smile appeared on each of their faces. "Why not?"

"Come!" They both darted off, their laughter resounding in the encirclement of the stairwell as they spiralled down. Murrue decided not to waste one second and hurried to keep up, dragging Mwu with her, leaving Arnold no choice but to go after them.

The garden looked the more astonishing the closer they got to it. Droplets of clear water from the fountain sparkled under the sun like a shower of diamonds, and the sweet smell of flowers oozed from every corner they turned. The gazebo was well placed and every direction gave a different view: towards the front was the backside of the manor, to the back was a path that led uphill towards a small woodland; on the two sides, one was a plateau of green grass which reached far like it was limitless, and far off the other side was a lake, the very same one they saw when they were arriving at the place in their coach.

Mwu and Murrue had wandered off themselves, not surprising to him as the atmosphere was well suited for a more private and intimate conversation—not at all an issue to him, as Fllay and Stellar were eager to be of his company, tugging and pushing as they could not wait to show him every path and corner of the garden.

The clouds had cleared long ago and the sun was strong, and it was beginning to get a bit too hot. Arnold soon decided to stay away from the sun and opted for a rest in the gazebo, but Fllay and Stellar seemed completely unaffected, and continued to chase around tirelessly in the garden. He watched them play, and amused in how he could not shake off that impression of them as a pair of white rabbits—innocent and pure, a stark contrast against the melancholic blues and purples that kept coming to his mind.

All of a sudden he caught a movement in the corner of his eye and he reflexively looked up, and found himself looking towards a particular window where a figure stood behind the glass. Through that window, on the second floor of the manor, he saw her—the woman who had assumed a new ownership of those flashes of dark colours his mind kept seeing. She stood there watching them, her hand pressing on the window pane as though it was the only thing standing between her and them, the one thing that held her back and kept her in that room, and she would have came down to them if the choice was given to her.

Then she jolted in the most unexpected moment, and backed away from the window, still looking at their direction. At him, more precisely, and he knew she finally noticed he had been staring at her all this time.

'_Wait, stay.'_

The voice in his mind was loud and eager, as if the thought was so strong it would have reached her without the need for her to even hear it, but she had already turned away and fled. He could not take his eyes off the window pane, hoping that she would return, but he waited and waited, and never saw that moment.

"What are you looking at?" Fllay's curious voice asked, her face appearing right in front of him from out of nowhere.

"You can see Dominion Hall in its whole from here," he said carelessly, choosing to keep his thoughts to himself. "It's such an amazing place, this estate."

Fllay sat down beside him, smiling in content as she watched Stellar chase a butterfly among the rose beds. "It is, yes; very amazing. It makes one feel like you have walked into a place you've only seen in your dreams, and you would wonder, if it is real, or if it is really just a dream. Like you feel you are lost in a maze, but you're not sure if you want to get back out."

"A maze?"

"A maze. A dream. Same difference, don't you think?"

"That's an interesting thought, considering it coming from you," he replied. "This is your home, but why do you sound like you think of it as some distant place?"

Fllay tilted her head and shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe it is, in a way; I don't know. Sometimes I simply don't know what I think about this place."

They sat in silence for a while as there was no way forward for the strange conversation to continue. Then out of the blue Arnold asked with his finger pointing towards the front, "That room up there on the second floor, what room is it?"

"That? Oh, it's the library. We were originally going to see it after the small parlour, but we came down here instead. Do you like books?"

"Very."

"Lovely! It's got a vast collection of them there. You should go and have a look sometime; I'm sure you'd love the place."

"I certainly shall."

Arnold smiled to himself; it was such an awfully appealing suggestion Fllay had given him.

o-o-o

They were back in the drawing room after dinner, and the room was filled with a much warmer air, thanks to the eventful day they shared. Stellar was tackling Mwu on the floor, fighting over a jar that contained the butterfly Stellar had caught in the afternoon, and Murrue and Fllay sat on the ridge of the newly improvised arena, laughing as they enjoyed the show. Arnold sat in an armchair nearby, close enough to see the action but far enough not to get caught in it.

The cousins' childish brawl was fun to watch, but he was more interested in the woman that sat by herself on the small sofa in the far corner of the room, her posture upright and a book on her lap, quiet and still like that side of the room was a world of her own. Mwu had mentioned that she would be there, just like the night before, because it was family tradition—one that was set up by her mother—that they would go to the drawing room after dinner and share the rest of the evening. But she just sat there, in the corner, as though her presence was only to fulfil a responsibility, and she seemed so—for the lack of a better word—_alone_.

Arnold got up from his seat and walked over, then sat down on the other end of her sofa; wordlessly, but his eyes never off her.

When she could not take the stare anymore, she turned impatiently to him and hissed, "What do you want?"

He grinned. "So you do speak."

"You-!" She bit her lip and her eyes were fiery, clearly trying to hold back words that would be deemed ill-mannered if they ever came out.

"You're rather quick to anger, aren't you? I didn't mean to offend, I'm just curious; we never spoke ever since our arrival here."

She glared at him but chose not to respond, and then turned her attention back to her book indicating she was not going to answer him. Getting to know her would prove to be a challenge.

Arnold loved challenges.

"Fllay and Stellar brought us to the gallery today, I saw that portrait of you and Fllay with your mother. You looked quite pretty with that long hair, it gives a completely different impression from what you do now; why did you cut it?"

Her body froze awkwardly; she turned to face him with hurt in her eyes, as if he had jabbed her with a knife and she had only just began to feel the pain, and he quickly realised he might have hit a sore spot. He expected her to reproach him for crossing a line, but she had only stared at him, with that look of reluctant defeat on her face he had seen just the night before—it was the exact same look she had following her argument with Mwu.

An apology would have been the appropriate thing to say, except he did not want to. There was something in her sorrowful glance that made him unable to look away; something more to her than that sense of detachment; something that led him closer to understanding this mysterious stranger.

"But if I were to chose, I'd like you better as you are now; I know it's unusual for a lady to have a hairstyle like yours, but I personally think it matches well with that intensity and boldness you have." He spoke slowly, taking note of every tiny reaction she gave. He noticed the way she tilted her head sideways in the manner of needing to digest his words, her amethyst eyes full of confusion. He found himself amused by her, and decided to push it just a bit more. "There's a certain kind of strength you possess that very few women have, and that's something I find very beautiful."

Her body flinched, and she swiftly looked away to hide her embarrassment from his overt praise. Was it a blush he managed to glimpse? It was completely unexpected to him, yet awfully endearing. _'Such an interesting woman she is,'_ he thought. It must have taken her a lot of willpower to face him again, because she had stayed unmoving in her place for quite a long while until he finally leaned in closer and urged her to respond. When she did, she turned towards him with an unbelieving look in her face like she had just heard the most farfetched lie.

"I doubt-" she hesitated, still reluctant to look him in the eye, but he knew from the slight tremble in her voice that there were some words that she was determined to say, as much as it was a struggle for her. "I doubt anyone would find a woman like me attractive, particularly with this… _odd_ hair, and my… plainness. But thank you, for offering me consolation. You are a kind person, Mr. Neumann."

But it was not an attempt to comfort; it was a genuine compliment, and how did she ever come to think of it otherwise? His mind quickly started searching for something to say to clear her misunderstanding, but she had already got up from her seat. "It's getting late, and I'm rather tired. I shall go back to my room now. Good night, Mr. Neumann."

* * *

**Author's note**

Fourth chapter! Don't have much to say for this chapter, except if you're here for the mystery (well, it _is_ categorised as drama/mystery), maybe it would be a good idea to start looking for clues. Or, feel free to come back again when the heftier questions start popping up in the later chapters.

Do let me know your comments, whether you like it or not. I'd really love to hear some feedback!


	5. TWO

**TWO**

The gentleman had brought Mama and her to another house to live with him, far away from the only home she had ever known of.

The house was a large place, with so many rooms that she would lose count and get lost if she did not pay attention—which was why she could not understand it when he would sometimes apologise to Mama for not being able to give them a better place to live in, that they deserve better than this 'small cottage' of his.

He was very kind to her, which had eased Mama's worries as she had at first feared that they would not get along well. But they did get along rather well; he had put in a lot of effort to understand her better, and paid attention to the ups and downs of her moods. After he had noticed her budding interest in books, he would always come back from his trips with a new book or two that he bought along the way as a present for her. He was a good man, and although living with him was never going to be the same as with Papa before, it would suffice.

She calls him 'Father' now, just like Mama had asked her to before—always 'Father', but never 'Papa'. Papa may be gone, but he still was and always would be her only Papa, irreplaceable, like she was to him; this way, and only this way, would she be able to keep the memories of him alive forever.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Apparently she was going to have a new sibling. She wonders what it would feel like to be the elder child, to be responsible for caring for another person, because Mama and Father has high hopes in her that she will be a good sister to the unborn child.

When the time came, she was actually scared. Not because of the uncertainty she constantly felt in waiting for her new sibling, but because of the screaming that came from Mama's room as she and Father sat outside as they waited. Well, she sat; Father tried, but every now and then he would get up and pace back and forth, standing in front of the door wanting to go in, but then sitting back down again without doing so. And then the midwife came out to congratulate him, the next moment he had already disappeared behind the door.

She was not sure if she was expected to wait outside or go in to see Mama, but then she heard Mama call her name, and she rushed inside straight towards her, giving her the hardest hug her shaky, feeble arms could manage. The newborn was in Father's arms, and he sat down on Mama's beside so they could both take a good look at the baby girl.

The baby's eyes were closed, but she would make these small and sudden movements that made it hard to tell whether she was asleep or just dreaming; do newborn babies dream? Her skin was very pink, like how peaches were, and there was this small tuff of red hair sitting on the top of her head that looked rather odd. Mama took the baby's small hand and placed it in hers, asking her to hold it gently.

"She's your new sister, Natarle. Her name is Fllay."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Fllay grew up to be such a sweet child, always lively and cheerful; when she smiles, she smiles as bright as the sun could be, and when she laughs, she laughs like a bird's song being sung. She adores the girl, because when with her, she can again see those brilliant colours of that small street she once lived on.

Everybody loved Fllay, but she could tell Father particularly so—everything Fllay asked for, Father would never say no: to sit on his lap, a plea for a new doll, or the cookie in the jar Mama had refused her. Father would always call her his sweetheart, and Fllay's pretty face would light up, like it was the best praise ever given to her. And she misses those days when _her_ Papa would call her his sweet, darling girl.

o-o-o

Father would often make trips into town, and from time to time he would bring them with him so they could have some fun. Mama preferred to stay in the house, thus she would ask her to take care of Fllay when they were out.

Fllay's favourite place was the shop that sold fine, pretty dolls; they were truly very nice dolls, and Fllay never left the shop without a new one in her arm. One time Fllay asked her if she wanted one too, but Father had heard her and laughed. _"Sweetheart, you don't know your sister well. Natarle is not as fond of dolls as you are; she prefers books, and that makes her a very clever person."_ So she decided, by the words and thus expectations of her Father, that she should never be fond of dolls.

This time they went, the lady at the shop told them there was some new stock, and had gotten Fllay very excited. The lady showed them the cabinet where the new dolls sat, and there on the shelves were soft toys made in the shapes of different animals; bears, bunnies, puppies and kittens. Fllay squealed, picking one up and then putting it down again as she went for another, then had soon lost interest in them and went to look elsewhere. She sighed as she watched her young sister dash off; such a pity she did not like them, they were all so lovely, particularly that bear with a pair of big eyes, light brown coat of fur, and a red bowtie around its neck. She held it for a while, then put it back down, and waited patiently as Fllay explored the shop. When Fllay returned she caught her staring at the bear, and asked most innocently, "Do you like the bear?"

She smiled. "It's a nice bear."

"Would you get it? Ask Papa to get it for you." Fllay said as if it was the most natural thing to do.

"Oh no. No, I wouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because… because Father doesn't think I like these things."

"But it's a very lovely bear! I like it very much too!"

"Yes, it's lovely. It suits you very much; much more than it suits me."

Fllay looked at her in puzzlement, then as if her mind suddenly clicked, she grabbed the bear with a grin across her lips and she ran towards her father, holding it up to him as her indication for wanting to own the item.

Fllay was very excited with her new bear, and had been toying with it restlessly throughout the ride back home; she did not even stop to show the bear to Mama when they got home, which she usually would have done, and had ran straight upstairs and did not come back down until it was time for dinner.

After the meal Fllay was anxious to get back to her room, so Mama and Father let her go as she willed. The girl came to where she sat and tugged her by the arm, "Natarle, I don't want to go alone. Come with me!"

She looked towards Mama, who smiled back in approval, and so she went with her sister who was humming gleefully all along the way. They got to the rooms but Fllay had made an early turn, and all of a sudden they were in her own room.

Fllay would not stop giggling, and she had no idea why. The girl kept urging her to go to sleep, trying to convince her that it was getting late, but how was she supposed to be able to sleep when it was hours before their usual bedtime? Fllay soon got irritated with her noncompliance, and as a desperate measure the young girl knocked onto her with her small body, shoving her onto the bed.

As soon as she landed onto her bed Fllay climbed up to join her, crawling to where her pillows sat and lied down, pretending to sleep. She let out a heavy sigh for not being able to understand what her sister was trying at, and then, as she brushed away her long hair that covered her face she noticed something sitting between her pillows that was never there before—the new bear Fllay had Father buy for her this afternoon.

"Fllay, your bear; what is it doing in my room?"

"I don't want it anymore. You can have it!"

"Me? But I thought you really liked the bear."

"You did too. You like the bear very much, don't you?" She got up, sitting the bear up properly and patted on its head. "But I don't like it now, so I want you to have it!"

And she finally understood why Fllay was so eager to get her back to her room—for her to see the surprise she got for her, the bear that she had liked but would not dare ask Father for.

There was a surge of warmness that suddenly came to her, from deep inside her chest, rushing through her blood and veins; this intense feel of happiness that made her feel she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, with that sense of isolation she felt ever since the birth of her younger sister vanishing into the air. She embraced her sister and thanked her; for her kindness, her affection—for truly seeing her as she was. And she swore to herself she would be forever devoted to this child.

* * *

**Author's note**

So, remember back in Chapter 3 when I asked you to wait a chapter or two, and it'll start to make more sense? I'm hoping you've figured out by now that the story is actually shifting between the present and the past. Due to my personal preference for storytelling techniques, I've decided to separate them by chapters instead of fitting flashbacks into the present scenes. (If you've read my other works, you'll probably be aware that I don't like using those _–flashback–_ tags.)

I hope my writing is clear enough to tell which chapter falls onto what period, but if not, you can always tell by the title of the chapter. Chapters with a proper title (e.g. _The Colours of Distance_) are those happening in the present, and those titled by a number (e.g. _ONE_) are the past (except for the prologue, which technically fits in the past as well). There will also be a third type coming up, but telling you will give away the story, so you'll just have to wait for them. I'm sure the last type is distinctive enough to be told apart from these two.

Till next time!


	6. A Hidden Treasure

**A Hidden Treasure**

She had completely surprised them, when they walked into the dining room and saw her sitting there in her designated seat, that she was still having breakfast with Fllay and Stellar. The dark-haired woman had not bothered to look at them, but the smiles on the other two girls' faces when they turned to greet them suggested that this was not a situation that they would find troubling. Mwu chuckled, and went past their seats with a quick pat on Stellar's head.

Murrue walked past after Mwu, though not before stopping beside Natarle for a proper greeting, which she responded with the same politely. But when Arnold came to her she looked away immediately, and replied to his 'good morning' in a voice so quiet that he almost missed it. Mwu let out a laugh so loud like it was the best joke he had heard in days. "Seems like you're finally getting along," he said, which instantly earned him a glare from her at the other end of the table.

Despite only casual nods and a simple word or two every so often, Natarle was at least being responsive now, willingly acknowledging her guests' presence. Stellar was visibly delighted by the change in her attitude, and Fllay seemed much more at ease, like a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. Their easiness was infectious; everyone else seemed so much more relaxed, and for the first time laughter was heard within the walls of the dining room.

Stellar was quick to hold on to Natarle when they all got up to leave, not giving her a chance to slip away. She was a bit resistant at first, making up excuses to leave while she was being dragged down the hallway towards the morning room with them, but as they reached the doors to the room she gave up her struggle, accepting the fact that her efforts were in vain.

She was placed between Stellar and Fllay on the long sofa—more like being held hostage by her reluctant frown and the way the two girls each had one arm linked into hers on each side—while the younger cousins discussed animatedly the plans for the rest of the day. A few suggestions came up: to finish the tour around the house from where they left off yesterday, a short trip into the town area, or a long walk around the outer edges of the estate. In the end they settled for Stellar's idea, to spend some time at the lake, and have a picnic there for lunch.

"Luna," Fllay called to the young maid with magenta hair in the corner, who was waiting patiently all this time for any moment her service might be needed.

"Yes, Miss Fllay."

"I think we shall be going to the lake soon; will you please ask the kitchen to prepare the things needed for the picnic, and bring them to us for lunch?

"Yes, Miss Fllay," she answered dutifully with a quick curtsy and went off.

"So that's lunch settled. Do you think we shall change into something lighter, Stellar, since we will be by the waters and I doubt I will be able to restrain you from jumping right in the moment we get there? Dresses soaked with water are rather heavy and difficult to walk around in."

Mwu almost choked in his own laughter, his reaction a good confirmation that Fllay's words must have been a very fitting description of the girl. Stellar held her tongue out sheepishly and spoke quieter than usual, "Yes please, that would be nice."

"Good. Now let's all get changed. Shall we meet-"

"I- um…" Natarle broke Fllay's talk hesitantly, very aware that she might be ruining the cheery atmosphere. "I'd rather stay here. I have things that I need to take care of, and I'm not-"

"Natarle, come with us, _please_. Stellar would really like you to be there." Stellar had cut the woman's words short with a plea, her cherry coloured eyes gleaming like a lost puppy's. She must have hit a soft spot with that dejected look, because judging by the slight slump of Natarle's shoulder, Stellar's had succeeded in convincing her cousin join them.

o-o-o

The lake was a perfect spot for a picnic: the waters were clear and tranquil, like a sheet of azure had been laid down as its cover; there were a few trees on one side of the lake, providing just enough shade to balance out the brightness of the sun.

Just as Fllay had predicted, Stellar had ran—as fast as her scrawny legs could carry her—ahead of them towards the lake, but had stopped just by its side and knelt down, dipping her hand into the water for a feel of it. She got up again, and pulled her white ankle-length sundress by its hem up to her knees and tied it into one huge knot, then slowly walked into the lake, deliberately kicking waves into the water with her each step.

Fllay pursued after her, tying up her pink coloured frock the same way Stellar did as she reached the lakeside, and gave a delighted gasp as she dipped her feet into the water. She twirled around to wave at the rest of them who were only just about to reach the lake. "Come, quickly! This is so wonderful!"

"It does seem very pleasant, doesn't it?" Mwu said, holding his chin while his blue eyes looked expectedly at Murrue, "Shall we go join them?"

"I don't see why not," she replied. "Arnold, are you coming?"

"No thank you, not too fond of getting myself wet," he waved them off, "The shade over there looks rather nice, I think I'd prefer that."

He had taken off his jacket as he went over to the trees on the side, and sat down to rest under its shade. He closed his eyes. It was very comfortable here, just as he had expected it to be: he could feel the day's warmth in the air, but the shades had prevented the sun from heating up the ground too much for it to feel hot; the faint splashes of the water along with the bird's singing made a great symphony of nature, and the occasional drifts of wind felt like breezes of life itself. All that was missing was a good book in his hands, and his day would be complete.

When he opened his eyes again he found not far next to himself the woman with short black hair, knees drawn up and arms wrapped around them protectively, staring at the group of four frolicking in the water; those yearning eyes made him wonder why she would not just go in and be together with them, when there was nothing stopping her.

"Would you not care to join them? They seem to be having a good time."

"No. I'm… not accustomed to… _this_." Her last word sounded forced, and Arnold did not know what to refer it to for it to make sense—the people, or the lake? If she was not interested in either, then why the look?

It reminded him of the day before where she was in the library—like a captive bird, longing to be liberated—but suddenly there was this eerie feeling stirring inside of him, taunting him that with or without those glass windows, she would never be able to break free. Whatever that was holding her back was holding her strong, like a cage only she can see, its boundaries only known to her, but real enough for her to know how hopelessly pointless it would be for her to even dream to be free.

How sad it looked, the woman alone and deserted, sitting there curled up against herself. He felt the need to talk to her, keep her company, as if it was his responsibility for being the only person here sitting next to her under the shades. Funny, he was not a compassionate person to begin with, _even_ if he were to evaluate himself most leniently—the pleasantry he normally offered was just an impression he'd make to ensure his name stayed on people's good side—and he would usually much rather mind his own business than probing into other people's. But she was different; she made him _want_ her to see him, to know him, just like how he wanted to know her and be near to her, and it was the most peculiar sensation he had ever felt. He edged closer, and was just about to speak when he heard a cry of her name; it was Stellar, waving ferociously towards their direction from where she stood in the lake. "Natarle, come!"

She sprung into a state of alertness—like how a startled kitten would when its mother was away—and would have hidden already if there was somewhere for her to hide. "No… thank you. I'd rather stay here."

"You must come join us, this feels so lovely! Stellar doesn't want Natarle to miss it!" Her voice was so sweet and bubbly that anyone else would have gone straight to her in a heartbeat, but Natarle sat still, both hands waving with uncertainty. "I don't-… I really shouldn't."

"_Please_," The young blonde held her hand out, still in mid-air, reaching like she wanted to hold Natarle's own; her energetic laugh fell into a softer smile, but with so much more sincerity that it was heart-warming. "Trust Stellar, it's most wonderful. Natarle will love it."

Natarle pondered for a moment, looking down with an unconvinced frown then back up again at Stellar, and finally got up from her seat. She carefully pulled up her lilac dress, revealing her slender, flawlessly white legs, and held the mass of fabric in one arm as she walked towards the girl, held her hand, and stepped in. The sun shone on her, and with her back turned towards him, she had become a shadow from where Arnold looked, like a silhouette that glowed around the edges, wrapped in a very visible aura that gave her an unearthly form. He was awestruck, captivated by how exquisite it looked, this whole scene put together like a goddess had come to the Earth and about to make this lake her bath.

There were so many different hers, every single one entrancing him like a spell; effortless and unintentional, but she captures his attention fiercely like how flowers capture butterflies, and she holds onto his thoughts tenaciously like how trees' roots holds onto the earth, and he feels this deep, unshakable necessity to be close to her, understand her and care for her. And at that precise moment he realised he was, in fact, spellbound—he was falling in love with a woman he barely knew anything about.

o-o-o

Lunamaria had come down to the lake with the picnic baskets with just the right timing. They had all heard Mwu's stomach growl—so loud that the unsuspecting person would have thought a bear cub was lost nearby—and he fell to the grass on his back, legs still in the water, arms stretched out as he yelled, "I'm hungry!"

"I have brought lunch, Sir," came a cheery voice above him, and he decided whoever it was that spoke must be his guardian angel. "Luna, you are an angel! You must have heard my prayers and came to save my life!"

"I'm afraid I cannot take credit for that, Sir," the young maid smiled teasingly with the most innocence she could feign. "It was Mr. Halberton who had asked me to bring this here now; he thought you might like to have lunch earlier. I'm only here to take care of the delivery."

Mwu's face fell, disturbed by the thought of his guardian angel being a grown man, and his two friends clearly must have read his mind as one was now trying to hide his sniggers, and the other was whispering to Fllay's ear, the young girl unable to hold back her laughter.

"What is it?" Stellar queried as she sat down with Natarle into a circle with the others, both of them still oblivious to what was happening. "Tell Stellar, what is it?"

"Apparently Mr. Halberton is Mwu's new guardian angel. He must have heard Mwu's stomach grumbling all the way from the house and sent Luna here with our lunch," Arnold commented with his hand in a fist and the thumb pointing out towards the basket next to Lunamaria, looking at Mwu with a genuinely—well, as genuine as he could fake it—touched expression. Stellar burst into laughter, and even Natarle, unable to hold her straight face, had to look the other way to hide her uncontainable chuckle from Mwu.

'_So she laughs too,'_ Arnold noted, but was distracted by Mwu's finger poking onto his shoulder. "A guest who mocks me in my own house, what shall I do with him, _Neumann_?"

"Mwu, play nice," Stellar warned, though not very compelling as her giggling had yet to subside. "Besides, it is rather funny! Stellar can't wait to tell Mr. Halberton about it!"

"Yes, particularly with that dreamy look on his face when he saw Luna with the basket," Murrue added, the corner of her lips curling into a teasing smile.

"Murrue! Not you too? Oh come on, I already know I can't win this one, must you rub it in?" Mwu complained, a childish pout appearing on his face that spoke of a message only she understood, and had sent her quickly back into laughter. She wiped the tears in the corner of her eyes, and there were exchanged glances between her and the two men. Then Arnold raised his arms into the air, "Truce."

It was obvious from the expressions on their faces that none of the three girls understood what was going on, so Mwu explained. "We've known each other for years. I don't think I've ever mentioned this to you; Arnold and I went to the same school, and we've been close friends since. As for Murrue, she's childhood friends with Arnold, so eventually I got to know her when I visited him. And it's difficult, you know, when the three of us banter, because there can only be two sides in a fight, and the third person will always have to pick a side. But alliances will never stay for long, and fights will always have to end somewhere; it's just that we know what makes us comfortable with each other. We've come to understand each other so well that we can converse by more than words; with glances, gestures, hints, reading each other without having to say things out loud."

"That's very sweet," Fllay said, "It's just like what siblings do."

"Well, yes. But I wouldn't say it's anything too unexpected though; after all, we've known each other for a very long time."

"Stellar knows Mwu had mentioned about Arnold and Murrue before, but Mwu's never told us how close you three were," Stellar said curiously. "Wouldn't it have been lovely if we had the chance to meet with them sooner?"

"Yes, I would have, if I could, but you know things were different back then when-" Mwu stopped abruptly mid-sentence, then with the frustration of someone who had been caught unawares he scratched the back of his head. "Never mind. It's nothing. At least everyone's enjoying themselves now!"

His tried to lighten the mood again, unquestionably conscious of how he made a wrong turn along the way and was now brought to uneasy grounds. But the effect he hoped for didn't come, and the space surrounding them had turned heavy by the silence his words brought to his three cousins.

Fllay stirred a bit in her seat, sensing that the silence was so painfully there that it made the guests uncomfortable. "Well, shall we eat now; I thought we were all hungry? What would you like, Murrue? Let's see, we've got sandwiches, scones, oh look, a cake too! How lovely!"

She kept talking and Lunamaria, knowing exactly what her duty was here, took the food out from the basket and served them around. The atmosphere started to regain its liveliness, but Arnold could still feel that undertone of perturbation, that unsettledness in the air, unseen like dust, but nonetheless there. He could not figure out what exactly it was in Mwu's words that went wrong; he had an idea, a clear one at that, that he must have been meaning the times before now—maybe when Muruta was around, or earlier? But what was it that made even brushing the brim of that matter so intolerable? Fllay had once warned him too, that they would not talk about that man unless absolutely necessary, and now with this small commotion, he could not help but wonder if there was more to the story than they have told.

But he was not allowed the time to ponder on this question, his attention was quickly demanded by those sitting around him. They ate and they joked, and all thoughts and queries Arnold held about the issue were cast far away until he had time for them again.

Immediately after lunch Murrue asked Natarle to take a walk with her, a chance she had been waiting for ever since she arrived here. Fllay asked to join, as if she could already foresee how challenging it could be to get her stubborn sister to participate in a conversation like how normal people do.

"Enjoy yourselves, my ladies. And Fllay, take care of them two for me, will you?" Mwu winked to the younger cousin, who gave an equally playful wink back.

Natarle scowled at him, "I don't need any taking care of; I can manage-"

"Let's go!" Fllay pulled her sister by her arm, her other in Murrue's as they walked, not letting Natarle stay behind to protest against Mwu's suggestion any further.

Stellar laughed as she watched the trio go, and lowered herself beside Mwu by the lake, the two started talking quietly between themselves, their faces more serious than they usually were, most probably discussing about the events that happened earlier. Arnold decided there would be no place for him in this conversation, so he went back to the shades under the trees.

He chose a different tree this time, this one giving him a better view of the manor, and to his satisfaction, also the route the three young women took for their walk. The tree was enormous, the roots thick and entangled, reaching above the ground and served nicely as his new armchair. He sat down, but then he felt something bulging in his seat; something stiff, pointed, and it made him rather uncomfortable. He edged out from his seat and turned to see what the offending object was, and to his surprise he found a book hidden in the small hole under the tree's roots. He managed to pull the book out with little effort; it was not exactly a book, as there was no title on its leather cover, but only a faint golden line that trimmed along the outer edges as decoration. Having dusted off the specks of soil on its cover he turned it over, and found marked on its flyleaf two letters—'M.H.'. He flipped a few pages, and he realised it was not a book but a diary; not a very often updated one it seemed, as the entry dates jumped—sometimes between days, sometimes even weeks. And he saw names come up rather often; names of the people who belonged in the manor, names he had become acquainted with—names which meant whoever wrote this diary lived amongst them. A thought sprung into his mind: this may be where he should be looking into if he wanted to know more about Dominion Hall and its occupants. He knew it was not proper, but whoever left the diary here might not have realised yet, and given it was he who found the item now, what was the harm in him being a nice person and find its owner to return it to? He hid the book under his jacket, resting his back onto the tree casually as if nothing had happened, and a triumphant grin crept up to his face—he shall have a good read when he got back to his room tonight.

o-o-o

On the way back to Dominion Hall Natarle seemed to be in a good mood, with a small smile that stayed on her lips as she watched the two younger girls skipping on merrily in front of her. But the closer they reached the house, the more her smile dropped, replaced by an air of anxiousness, as though there was something awaiting her return but she was not ready for it. When they almost reached the backside of the house, she looked up to the mass of windows and bricks, her attention panning slowly from the centre of the mansion towards the abandoned West Wing, with that unique sadness back in those beautiful violet irises.

"Is something wrong?" Arnold asked.

Her answer didn't come immediately, no; there was this pause, even though silent it felt so grave, so burdensome, that seemed it could drag everyone who heard it down into the depths of her nostalgia. "The West Wing. It's closed off; you know that, don't you?"

"Yes. Fllay had mentioned that to us."

"Good." She said nothing further, but her eyes said everything; full of longing, like she would rather be there than anywhere else—like over there, on that empty side of the house, in all its desolation and darkness, was where she truly belonged.

* * *

**Author's note**

Have done a bit of tweaking to two of the previous chapters (Prologue and ONE) so that readers get to know immediately whose point of view it is for those two chapters. I hope this makes it less confusing.

Any chance I can have a review or two?


	7. THREE

**THREE**

Father was sick. Very sick. His fever never stopped, and he was always coughing. It was consumption, the doctor told them—he must have caught during that trip some time ago—and it would not be much longer for him. Weeks, at most, but there was no guarantee.

Mama was devastated when she heard the news. After a maid had shown the doctor his way out from the drawing room, she fell into the sofa, covering her tired face with her hand. "No, _please_. Not for a second time."

She sat beside and held her Mama's hand; not knowing what to say she decided just to keep silent.

"Don't tell Fllay yet, Natarle. She's not ready for it."

She nodded to Mama in agreement, glad that her little sister had been sent to play in the garden when the doctor came so she hadn't heard any of this. Mama reached her hand out and brushed against her cheek tenderly, something she would do when either of them needed the comfort.

She understood Mama's worries—what irreparable damage could be done for the truth of a father's death to be thrown at his unsuspecting child; they had both experienced it first-hand, and they were not going to let it happen again. Not for their precious Fllay. They would let her keep seeing Father, give them some time together every day, and tell her the truth one bit at a time along the way, so she could take time to let it sink in.

o-o-o

There was a letter in the post, for Father. He sat up in his bed to read it, and when he was finished, he read it again from the start, making sure he made no mistake of its contents.

When he was finally done with reading, he let out a relieved sigh. Carefully he folded the letter together along its original crease, and slipped it back into the envelope. "Take this with you, after I've gone, and bring it to Dominion Hall—just in case, but I suspect you won't really be needing it. My father has made a promise to take care of you three."

Mama refused to take the letter Father handed to her. "George, we will manage perfectly well here. We don't have to go anywhere."

"Ellie, I had promised to take care of you and Natarle the day you agreed to marry me, and I would like to keep my promise, even after I die. There will be people there to look after you, you won't have to worry about anything. And Fllay will have a good life there, my father will love her dearly, I promise."

"George-"

"Please. Don't make me go back on my word."

Taking the parchment with a tentative hand, Mama spoke slowly, "We will go to Dominion Hall then." She planted a kiss on his forehead, and turned around to head for the door. Natarle got up from her seat, held her Father's hand firmly but briefly, and went after her Mama who was waiting at the door. With a _click_ the door was opened, and a bundle of red rushed into the room towards the bedside.

"Fllay, take good care of your Papa, yes? But remember not to get too close."

"Yes, Mama!" came the small, enthusiastic voice, and Mama closed the door behind her.

A weighty sigh was heard, and Natarle found her Mama leaning onto the wall beside the door as if she had just been through the trial of her lifetime.

"What is it, Ma?"

She made a queer laugh through her nasal, more like a snub but without the hostility, and it sounded like she was pitying herself; that, was something her Mama would never do.

"We will be living with Frederick Allster then."

"Fllay's grandfather?"

"Yes. And he hates me."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Fllay had coped with Father's death fairly well; there was plenty of crying and acting up from the girl during the immediate few days—of course there was, what else was to be expected from a six-year-old? But she had accepted the fact, and she stopped as soon as she got tired of feeling the grief. After all, she was well prepared by her mother and sister for this moment.

And so they packed everything they needed, sent away the servants, and left the house, headed for Dominion Hall as promised. The journey took rather long, and when they arrived at their destination, there was only Lewis and Erica standing at the entrance to welcome them, and also a footman and a maid waiting by the side to help with the heavier duties.

"Mr. Halberton, Mrs. Simmons," Mama greeted them. She hadn't looked at her surrounding in the same fascinated manner her two children did; there was a certain sense of familiarity in her voice that hinted she had already been here before. "It's been a long time."

"Yes it has, ma'am," He bowed courteously on behalf of the staff, with a small restrained smile to follow; the expression hinted he was good terms with Mama, but he had probably thought it was inappropriate for show.

"Frederick… Where is he?"

"Sir Frederick would like you all to meet him in the drawing room once you've settled."

"He would like to meet with us?" Mama sounded surprised.

"Yes ma'am. That is what he had instructed."

She stood unmoving, staring at Lewis in an attempt to decipher from his blank face if there were any hidden connotations she should be but was unable to read. The man's face, however, betrayed nothing.

"Right. Well then, we can't have him waiting forever. Will you show us our rooms then?"

o-o-o

The drawing room was a beautiful room, nothing like Natarle had seen before, a grandeur unexplainable by words. The walls and the drapes, the furniture and the ornaments; all put together most harmoniously, nothing more, nothing less, every single detail the perfect complement to the whole effect. The house itself—she could not believe there were real houses as this—so huge, so magnificent, so surreal, like the castles she would hear of only in stories and myths, and the house they lived in with Father dwarfed in comparison. No wonder why he said it was merely a 'small cottage'.

She was supposed to sit with Mama to wait for Frederick—_'Grandfather'_, she repeated the foreign word in her head—but Fllay was excited and fidgety, and had refused to stay in her seat. Dragging her sister with her wherever she went, the red-haired girl had stopped in front of the fireplace, sat at the piano, opened the doors to the balcony, and been at just about every other corner of the room.

_Click_. The sudden sound alerted the three occupants that someone had arrived, and they all froze in their places. The door opened; quite like how they would normally open—swiftly, easily—but it felt like time had been pulled long enough for an eternity as they waited to see the person behind the door to be revealed.

It was first Lewis who came to their sight, opening the door then stepping aside for the person behind him to enter. The man strode in, standing tall and straight, in a manner that anyone would have understood he was the master of the house with one glance. He had an air of arrogance, so very natural to him as if he was born with it, but at the same time he gave a feel of loss—with those deep-sat and dulled grey-blue orbs he looked like a person who have had too much taken from him that he simply gave up on believing in happiness.

"Frederick," her tone hesitant, like a young child waiting to be punished, Mama greeted the man. When he didn't make any sound, she continued, "This is Natarle, my oldest."

"Grandfather," Natarle dipped her head down in a polite manner, yet still no reply from him. She looked at him, hoping for some kind of response, however small, that meant he at least acknowledged her, but he never turned to look, his cold and blank stare not even flinching. And she understood, because Mama had already cautioned her about this. He would not look because he did not see her, because to him she was not there, transparent and weightless, as irrelevant as the dust in the air. She turned her attention to Mama, and found her looking back at her with a rueful smile.

"Where is the child?" Frederick spoke abruptly.

Mama pursed her lips, a sign she had known this would happen, and had not wanted it to at the same time. "Fllay," she called.

From behind Natarle the small figure peeked out, afraid of what was waiting for her. She managed a quick glimpse of the old man in the middle of the room and hid again, clutching onto the fabric of Natarle's skirt as her shelter. All was silent, and she came out once more to take another look, this time more daringly, looking the man in the eye with odd interest.

Frederick's eyes grew wide, the arrogance and calmness in them lost in a split moment. "Elysse. My child, my dear child! Come here!"

The man who was purged of all emotion just a while ago was on the contrary so full of it now, such a brusque change that Natarle would have thought they were two different people if she had not seen it with her own eyes. His voice was desperate—the voice of someone who had been waiting forever, hanging onto that last string of hope, and finally seeing it come true. Fllay let out a whimper and pulled hard onto her sister's skirt, and Natarle had to wrap her arm around the child to calm her.

"Come to me, _Elysse_!"

She was on the brim of tears. Looking up to her sister for reassurance, she cried, "I am not Elysse! I'm Fllay, my name is Fllay!"

"Yes, you are Fllay," Natarle bent down to meet her eye, stroking her hair gently. "Of course you are."

"Fllay," Frederick called, allowing the name trail in the air until he could feel its genuineness. "_Fllay_. Come, Fllay, let your grandfather have a good look at you."

With her mind still spinning in confusion Fllay turned towards the vague direction of Mama with the most perplexed expression on her face. When she finally found her focus, she saw Mama smile—the kind of smile with her brows kitted together, that it was clear she was not truly happy but had no choice other than to accept. "It's alright, Fllay. You can go to your grandfather; he won't hurt you."

Fllay immediately looked back at her sister for one last confirmation, then slowly, in small footsteps she dragged herself towards the man waiting for her across the room.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Time had passed quicker than they were aware of, and soon came summer, marking the fifth month of their new life in Dominion Hall.

Summer was the time when the Allster family members would return to visit, as told by Lewis—at least they used to, but it was all different now, due to Frederick's self-isolation and the ill relationship between him and his children. So now, only the grandchildren came; no summer balls, no garden parties, no fancy dinners, no longer the same vivacious, glamorous place it used to be.

Mwu was the first to arrive. Older than Natarle by two years, he was a young man who was confident yet carefree, and very friendly to everyone, even the servants. His charisma was what made him shine, his easy attitude made everyone around him want to _be_ around him. Natarle had never met anyone like him—though she has never really met many people, as there never was the opportunity for her to anyway—and she was caught in amazement. How did one ever find so much good in a world like this? And soon enough she discovered that he had her utmost respect; standing next to him would make her feel so inadequate, as if the years she had lived was a disappointment to the world, yet he would always try to cheer her up, and help her with any troubles she had—he was good guidance, like a brother but not quite as close, nonetheless a fine replacement for Papa and Father as someone she could look up to. His presence was therefore a lovely addition to the generally unexciting days Mama and she had, particularly with Fllay preoccupied by Grandfather's devoted attention and away for most of the time.

It displeased Natarle immensely how Grandfather had monopolized Fllay's time ever since their arrival; he would take her into town for new clothes, to the lakeside for a stroll, or in the study to keep him entertained while he attended to matters of the estate. Mama and Natarle then became her second priority, and they only got to see the girl at mealtimes—because Frederick had always preferred to dine alone—or on the rare occasions when Grandfather needed time by himself. Fllay hadn't complained; she was content with the attention she was receiving, just like Father had expected, and the novelty of being treated like a princess of the castle never wore off. She had missed the closeness she once shared with Mama and Natarle, and she _did_ wish for more time with them, but the new life Grandfather offered her just had a stronger pull, Natarle supposed.

So it was just her and Mama for most of the time. It brought back memories, and with the memories came a certain comfort—that feel of intimacy, of seclusion and dependence she had felt during that little time after Papa and before Father, in the world where only Mama and her existed. But memories were memories, and there was always something at the moment that did not feel quite right—things she couldn't put a finger on, yet she knew there was no denying that they _were_ there; like a piece of white linen that had been washed too many times, immaculately clean at the first glance, but when you take a closer look, you would find small stains scattered across, and you would realise that the white was not a perfect white anymore.

Mwu was therefore a good distraction; she would have less time to spot those stains when there was something else to amuse her. Not that she was always amused though; he had the most irritating talent to put her in discomforting situations with his cheeky and straightforward way of talking, and she would sit there, red-faced and speechless, while the room rang with his and Mama's laughter. But he was a kind young man, Mama had observed, because he truly cared about those people around him. _"Go to him," _she remembered Mama saying, _"if you're ever in trouble and need help when I'm not here. He'll help you. He won't turn you away; it's in him."_

Why should she care though, now that Mama _was_ always here? She wasn't going anywhere—she did not have to work, like Papa did; she did not go on trips, like Father did; and she did not need to keep Grandfather's company, like Fllay did—so why would she need to worry about what happens when she was not around if she was never going away?

"_We can worry about that later, Ma."_ She recalled the tentative smile Mama returned when she replied, which she took to mean as her Mama's worries were eased for now.

And so she had that reminder locked away tightly somewhere in the depths of her mind; she would not be needing it soon, it can stay there till the day it may be of use. For now she would sit back and enjoy those quiet and delightful times with Mama and her new cousin.

o-o-o

"Hello," Mwu raised his hand casually at the two people in front of him in his usual manner of greeting familiar people. "I thought you two won't be coming this summer."

The two newly arrived were Muruta and Stellar, the older boy the new heir to Dominion Hall, the younger his beloved sister, a small girl around Fllay's age. The siblings shared the same childlike features—the face filled with innocent charm, pale blonde hair that shined like a halo, and skin as fair as porcelain dolls'. The only difference that stood out were the eyes; the brother had clear blue eyes, like Mwu's, only lighter in colour but duller in shine, and the sister's were of a peculiar deep pink, like rose, yet also like violet, and it glowed beautifully of a translucent naivety.

"Mwu," the girl spoke the single syllable; not in the way a child would when greeting others, it was more like she had recognised this person, and spoke the name only to confirm her speculation. Mwu smiled anyhow, and gave a light pat on the girl's head. "Hello, Stellar."

"Summer's not over yet. You're just here early," Muruta cut in impatiently, his face showing unabashed boredom and indifference. Stellar, on the other hand, was now looking around with inquisitive eyes, still trying to figure out her surroundings.

Mwu shrugged. "I've got nothing to do anyway. I thought I'd come here early to meet with Aunt Elizabeth and our two cousins." His thumb pointed to not far behind him where Natarle stood with her Mama, waiting patiently out of good manners.

Muruta took a quick glance, but completely ignored the need to introduce himself or his sister properly. "Two? I only see one. Unless that woman there is one of the sisters."

"No, she's Aunt Elizabeth, and that's Natarle. The younger one's Fllay, and she's with Grandfather."

A loud snort was heard, and Muruta's disdain was clear. "Oh, that old man's taken in a new pet?"

"_Muruta_." Mwu shushed his cousin.

The young man smirked with contempt, and took his sister's hand. "Come on Stellar, let's go. Won't want you mingling with _that_ kind."

There it was again. How easily that one simple but defined comment turned it all back around again. Ever since that very first meeting with Grandfather, the impression Natarle once felt that was lost for a long time had came back all in an instant, and this time, it was here to stay—they did not belong here, nor will they ever be truly welcomed here.


	8. 30th September

**30th September**

_I have decided to start writing this journal as I am afraid that one day I will lose hold of myself within this large, haunted manor. Not haunted, no, there are no real ghosts but only those of the mind, and of the past, yet those are precisely the ones I am afraid of. I should not be, as I have done no harm, and what had passed within the walls of this manor should not trouble me. But how can I expect not to be haunted when the very reason of my presence here is to chase this ghost? My dear sister is concerned for me, and even as she stays by my side everyday, she still fears she cannot grasp onto me tight enough, or catch me quickly enough if I drift away. Will I drift? Will I one day lose my real self and become another ghost of Dominion Hall?_

_I guess I am confused now, which is why I must write, just as Natarle had suggested me to. She had given me such invaluable advice: _'Write them down—these feelings of yours, memories, fears and dreams and everything else—with your own words, your own voice. Write them down to keep them alive forever, so nobody can take them away from you.'_ The wise words of a person who lives on books. And so I must._

_Natarle, she is the closest I have to a mentor here. I am still in awe of her, ever since the first day of my arrival here at Dominion Hall. Much different from what I had expected for a lady of such a grand house (though I must admit I was biased with my limited understanding of what real ladies should be like anyway): I was expecting her to be graceful and delicate, dressed in pretty gowns and wearing fabulous jewellery, and you would find her always with a smile on her face, with a slight tendency to exaggerate and a taste for drama; at times somewhat overbearing in matters of the house, maybe? But she is none of those. When I first met her I was shocked by her appearance; what kind of woman would wear her hair in such an unstylish short length if she wanted to be even just remotely attractive? Such a great pity, for she has a beautiful face; her features are delicate, yet her manners are not—though she could easily give this impression if she wished to, with those pretty violet eyes, rosy cheeks, and small, red lips—but her stare is strong, sometimes even cold, which I found frightening at first; her movement is graceful but also firm, lacking the distinctive softness of women. And she does not wear elaborate dresses or expensive jewellery; she is an unpretentious person, and so is her dress sense. Her voice is usually bold without the slightest bit of hesitation, but occasionally also soft and shy, especially when she tries to comfort me, despite the awkwardness in her attempts. And she has a kind heart; although she is stern to almost everyone, I can see she has the trust and loyalty of the household staff—if one didn't know well enough, one would most certainly mistaken that she was the rightful owner of Dominion Hall. _

_There is also Stellar; such a beautiful gem she is. She has the features of a porcelain doll: shiny blonde hair, fair and supple skin, and a petite stature that makes her all the more lovely to look at. And she has the sweetest laugh! To hear her laughter is like hearing music, brightening even the gloomiest days; and her innocence and kindness is warm enough to meld any troubled spirit. Life in Dominion Hall would be so different without her; it would become dreary and pale, and just imagining it makes me miserable!_

_And Fllay. Oh, she is so mysterious! What can I say about her? If Stellar were the rays of morning light, then she has the colours of a setting sun; so attractive that even in silence she draws your attention like fire does for a moth. And I must say this, as it struck me the first moment I saw her, and I envy her for it: her red hair has such a beautiful shine! So lustrous and voluminous, so soft to the touch, unlike mine, which is coarse and dull; how I wish I had hair like hers! Oh, we are alike in so many ways, yet very different all the same time. My sister adores her, and she thinks we could get along well. If Fllay could just see me as I am, I believe we would be such great friends! _

_I must go now, for I haven't been here for long and there is still much I must learn. I will write again when I have the time. _


	9. The Library

**The Library**

Arnold closed the diary. Running his palm against its cover, he let his questions flow freely in and out of his mind, catching a thought to dwell on for a moment and letting it go again when he figured he had reached another dead end.

His first impression was that it must have been written by a young woman, or maybe only a girl, but definitely female—the neat slant in the penmanship, the tonality, where the observations were directed towards, and the admiration—everything hinted the owner as an authoress. He could not, however, figure out who she was; from the way she spoke of the three young woman, calling them by their names without 'Miss' or 'Ma'am' or any other formalities, she would most probably very close to them. But who else was there, other than them three? Who was the sister she spoke of, and what was their relationship with the family? And the ghosts, the drifting, and the things she has to learn?

The only solid clue he has so far was the initials 'M.H.', the rest were guesswork. Never mind, it was still early days, and he knows he will find time for the other entries; hopefully he will be able to decipher it all before its rightful owner discovers that he has the diary.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

He had not yet decided what he would like to do today. With them having been here for almost a week already, Stellar and Fllay had decided to let the guests explore the estate by themselves a bit and choose for themselves what they would enjoy most here; it was simply impractical to make plans for all of them as one entity, for every single day, and for the rest of the summer. So Arnold took his time, pondering as he sat on the couch in the drawing room and flipped through the newspaper, how to make use of the free time given to him.

The garden would have been a good choice, if Mwu and Murrue had not already taken the first right to the place. Those two were off by themselves again, leaving Arnold to his own device—much more frequently now than every that made him wonder when those two would do what was meant to be done. It wasn't any of his business really, but the dragging on did sometimes make him so impatient that he would, _if_ he could, make those two admit the already obvious.

Fllay and Stellar were out in town for some shopping, which they had not done for a long time. _"Girls must keep up with the latest fashion, and the best way to do it is go out and see for oneself,"_ they spoke to him in a mock seriousness. They had invited him to tag along, but a clever enough man would know how that would end, so he turned them down politely, and they knew better than to insist.

Natarle did not go with them. She was not interested in these kinds of things, Fllay told him—_"She could have been, if things had turned out different,"_ Stellar had muttered to herself quietly, a reminiscence not meant for him to hear—hence only once in a very long while, and with plenty of coaxing, would she decide to join them.

And now she was nowhere to be seen. She must have slipped out of the room sometime earlier when they were not noticing, so that she need not trouble herself with making excuses to avoid being in their company. He could not fathom why she was so wary of Murrue and him; was it because they were outsiders and she did not trust them enough to let them closer, or was it simply because she did not like them? The latter seemed rather unlikely though, given how she had warmed up to them considerably since yesterday; but if it was for precaution, why the need for it? What was it that she wanted to protect? Was it the very same that had her persistently enveloped in that bitter solitude?

He wanted to know. Falling in love with this woman despite her being a complete mystery to him made him feel vulnerable, and vulnerability was a feeling he did not come across often, nor did he like it one bit. The uncertainty, the incomprehensibility, the sheer simplicity of how little he knew; it all reaffirmed him how limited control he had in this relationship—was it even that yet, something lucid enough to be definable as such? No, no it was not. And he knew what he had to do.

He tossed the newspaper aside and got up, knowing exactly where his next destination was.

o-o-o

He came to a stop in front of the doors, and looking back down the corridor, he was pretty sure this was the right place. There were not many rooms on this floor, and these were the only two facing the garden. Of the two rooms the other one was too far towards the end of the corridor to be the one he saw last time, so this must be the one he was looking for, the library Fllay told him about.

Arnold turned the handle as lightly as he could manage, hoping not to frighten its occupant with his unexpected arrival. The library gradually revealed itself, the musty scent of old books that filled the room rushed towards him as he opened the doors, and like the rest of the house, it was a beautiful place. The walls were bookshelves reaching all the way to the high ceiling, and every single compartment was filled neatly with books. To his right hand side was a set of sofas and armchairs near the end of room where the fireplace was; on the other side were a writing desk, some large decorative pieces, a few odd chairs, and a long table that reached towards the window at the corner of the room. There, at the end of the table beside the window, was where he found her.

Natarle had her back facing towards him; with the carpet beneath him soaking in the sounds of his footsteps as he walked up to her, she did not realise that there was now someone else in the room. Arnold stopped a few steps away from her, and decided this was the perfect distance; she sat by the window, one arm propped up on the table supporting her chin in the palm of her hand, her other hand resting comfortably on the wooden surface where a book was laid open but unread—she was focused elsewhere, outside the window into the distance—the winds pulled in through the open window, drawing the sheer curtains into a synchronized movement with the breezes, like they were a veil that was her protection, separating her and her sphere of serenity from the outside world. Here in her world of stillness, the gloom usually surrounding her had vanished, and she was comfortable and content; a warm satisfaction emerged inside of him, the delight stemming from his new discovery of this unseen side of her.

He stood and watched; how much time had passed? Five minutes? Ten? He lost track, but it wouldn't have made a difference; he did not want to disturb this tranquillity—there was something sinful about breaking this silence, shattering her moment of peace and his dreamscape, because there were some moments and sentiments so magical, so unique, that he knew it would only happen once in a lifetime. He found himself torn between two conflicting desires: he wished to relish this peaceful moment for as long as time allowed him, but at the same time, he craved to enter this private world she created only for herself. His desires warred against each other, but soon enough he was certain which one was to win—his need to make his presence known and to speak to her had deepened as each second ticked by, irrepressible and intolerant, and he could no longer hold back.

"Natarle."

He took the liberty of calling her by her name, the first time he had ever spoken those three syllables, and the taste of her name on his lips felt strange; foreign, yet pleasing, and it lingered like the savour of a good wine.

She spun herself around in a flash, eyes wide open indicating her surprise; he was too, by the frankness of her expression—pure and simple, with a touch of naivety he had never seen before, it had nothing of the defence she would normally put up to widen the distance between herself and others—and although it stayed only for one brief moment, this moment alone seemed to him like frozen time, letting him dwell for as long as he needed to forever remember this rare innocence.

"Mr. Neumann, is there something I can help you with?" She finally broke the silence. Her surprise turned into a questioning frown, and he was not sure if it meant she did not want him here or she was simply puzzled by his appearance.

"Call me Arnold, please. I'm not keen on formalities," he said, offering a smile to ease her scepticism. "Fllay told me that there is an excellent collection of books here, so I thought I'd come by to find some good night-time reading."

Those scrutinizing violet eyes softened at the mention of books, showing her approval of his pursuit. He was now convinced he had at least one common interest shared with her, something that could let him start a conversation without the dangers of stepping cross hidden boundaries.

"Mr. Neumann-" She said, but had stopped abruptly, unable to continue; the suggestive stare he sent her way had well reminded her of his request. Struggling to comply, she spoke again most cautiously, and his name came out like chopped pieces severed by her uncertainty. "A-Ar-nold."

"Yes?" His lips pulled uncontrollably into a wide smile.

"What… what kind of books do you like?"

"Hmm, suspense, maybe? Oh, I do rather like gothic fiction. Detective stories and biographies sometimes; I'm not too choosy with books—as long as they're tolerable. Any good ones you'd recommend?"

Natarle stared at him for a while, thinking, and the look of her in serious thought was as endearing to him as all the other expressions he had only managed a glimpse of so far. He secretly relished this sight as she continued with her thoughts, then as if she had just hit a realisation she looked down to the table, closed the book laid in front of her and handed it to him. "You might like this one."

Arnold took the book into his hands. It was a very old book; the leather cover was all worn and parts of its copper-coloured ink lettering had been rubbed off, the ridges of its papers were yellow and frayed, and it gave the impression that it had been read too many times. "'The Black Howling Winds'," he read its title off the cover, "I must say, the title alone sounds interesting enough. Are you sure you'd lend it to me? I thought you were in the middle of it."

"It's alright, I've read it already; many times, in fact, so there's no rush in returning it."

So that explains the tattiness of it. "It must be a very good book then, for you not to tire of it even after so many reads."

"There are other reasons-" She paused mid-sentence, and decided she did not owe him the explanation she was about to give. "Yes, it is a good book."

Other reasons? The question briefly dashed across his mind, but he decided against thinking about it too much; right now he had other plans. Eyeing the seat opposite her across the table, he walked over and rested his hand on the back of the chair. "Would you mind if I sat here?"

A stunned look sprung onto her face, then a blush, her eyes wandering away from him to hide her shyness. "No- I… I don't. Of course you may sit here… if you like."

"Thank you, Natarle."

And thus began a quiet, uneventful, yet wondrous afternoon, with only books, the summer breeze, and each other as their company.

* * *

**Author's note**

Sorry I took a while to get this chapter up… I just wasn't sure if anyone's still reading this story (because to be honest, 3 reviews in 8 chapters is _quite_ discouraging), and since there's a bunch of stuff happening in real life, I thought I should probably focus on those instead. I must admit at one point I actually forgot about having to upload a new chapter… Thanks to Aya for reminding me!

So, just one small detail about this chapter that I want to mention: _The Black Howling Winds_ is not a real book, but something I made up—dedicated to BlackHowls, my first friend ever on FFnet. Not sure if she comes to this site anymore though… BlackHowls, if you're reading this by any chance, just wanted to say hi! Hope you're doing great!

**To Aya: **Thanks so much for your review! You're actually correct to say that the story's got that 'multi-layered Victorian-setting plot' vibe to it, because that's exactly what I'm going for! It's my favourite genre of fiction. :) If that's your thing too, I hope my story won't disappoint.


	10. FOUR

**FOUR**

For some reason Mama was growing weaker by the day. She lost appetite, and naturally her weight along with it. Her skin paled so much it almost seemed grey, and no matter how long she spent in the sun it was not enough to give back her rosy complexion. She tired easily, yet could not sleep well. Headaches came often, and when they did she couldn't go anywhere but stay in her bed, resting the whole day away.

She should have noticed something was wrong with Mama earlier, but whenever she asked Mama if she was alright she would casually dismiss her worries, and never once did she think to doubt Mama when she smiled that convincing smile of hers. That was something she would forever regret in her later life.

The doctor's occasional visits became regular, and then more than frequent; when Mama began seeing the doctor almost every other day, she knew there was no hope in her condition. Doctor Clyne was a very kind and patient person, and although his help was not enough to cure Mama, he tried his best to ease her pain. For that, they were both thankful. But his kindness did not mean he would give them false hope; he had made it very clear that Mama's time was scarce. Mama was grateful though, that there was at least still time; she had asked Natarle to stay with her whenever she could, because she wanted every second of her remaining life to be meaningful, for there to be something she could cherish and hold on to till the very last moment.

But Mama had promised she would not leave her. She had _promised_.

o-o-o

It was ridiculous that Fllay was still not back at this hour. How could Grandfather be so cruel, to keep her away when Mama was in this condition? He knew very well that it was all to end in these few days; Fllay had told him after they sat with Dr. Clyne the other day.

"Ma," she asked as she brushed the wet lock of hair away from Mama's sweaty forehead. "How are you feeling? Is it still hurting?"

"I'm fine, Natarle. You worry too much." Mama was wearing that comforting smile she always had for her, only though now it had lost all its effects.

How could she not worry when Mama was slowly slipping away? She let out a heavy, restrained sigh—the kind that made her throat hurt and left a bitter taste in her mouth. She felt her eyebrows pushing together into a frown, but no matter how hard she rubbed with her fingers she could not ease that tension.

"Come closer, darling," Mama reached her hand weakly towards her. "Let me see you."

She sat down cautiously on the bedside, trying not to let the extra weight of her sitting onto the mattress cause Mama any discomfort. "Closer," Mama urged, and she leant forward towards her. Mama raised her thin hand; not strong enough to place it where she wanted to—she barely managed to brush the ends of Natarle's dark long hair that hung near her waist—but Natarle knew what she meant to do and took her hand, herself moving even closer to let it rest against her cheek.

"Natarle, my sweetheart. I've always wanted to tell you this, but I never found the courage to. But I have to, before it's too late; before I leave you and lose the chance forever…" Every single word was a heavy task for Mama, and her normally assured voice trembled so much that Natarle could hardly recognise it if she had her eyes closed.

"Ma," Natarle said, her hand clutching tightly onto her Mama's.

"I'm so sorry, for all the hardships you have to go through," Mama continued. "I'm sorry that the choices your Papa and I made had brought you onto such a difficult path. But we never regretted it, and the time we had together was the best time of my life."

With every word Mama spoke, Natarle felt the stinging feeling in her eyes intensify, and there was this sharp, choking pain in her throat that made it more and more difficult to breathe. She knew could not speak without sounding strange, so she chose not to reply with words, only shaking her head quietly as consolation towards her Mama's apology.

"Your beautiful dark hair," Mama stroked lightly onto the dark silk against Natarle's shoulders, and laid back down her tired hand. "Just like your Papa's. You have his stubbornness too, but you try to hide it; you're so much like him. You and your Papa, you two are the best things that have ever happened to me. Natarle, I love you _so_ much."

_Papa_—the mention of him had ploughed a hole in her heart, drawing from the bottom of it emotions that were too much for her to handle. "Mama!" Her voice broke with the one word she uttered unconsciously, and the pain in her eyes was so unbearable that it finally released the well of tears she tried holding back.

Mama's eyed widened for a very brief moment, then returned back to their usual calmness, and she laughed to herself quietly while giving Natarle's hand a brief squeeze. "Say it again, Natarle," she asked. "You haven't called me that for a very long while. Say it again."

"Mama," she cried, tears flooding out freely, like all these years she had forgotten how to cry, and the sudden remembrance of the ability had caught her unawares that she did not know how to make it stop.

She had tried so hard to stop crying, but each time she attempted to swallow her anguish it would get stuck inside her throat, and the pain it brought only set free another flow of tears. Mama patiently wiped away her tears every time, caressing her cheek the way she always did whenever she needed the comfort. Slowly Mama's soothing began to sink into her, and her cries started subsiding into sobs, and then finally into small hiccups.

She wiped away the last tear with the back of her hand and looked at Mama with newfound sureness that brought a small smile back to her lips. Mama quietly took the silver pendant that hung around her neck and placed it into Natarle's palm. "Your Papa gave me this as our wedding gift, and it's yours now. Put it on for me."

Natarle took a long look at the shiny ornament, her hands trembling at the weight of its significance. She needed a great deal of effort to put it on, her jittery fingers struggled to open the clasp that even Mama, as weak as she was, managed without problem. When she finally had it adorned on herself, Mama ran her hand over it quickly, admiring how it complemented the girl so perfectly. "His name is Edward Badgiruel, Natarle. Remember your Papa, and remember that you are his child. Most people may know you only as Natarle Allster—even Fllay; she hasn't realised it yet, and she is too young to understand what it means—but you must always remember yourself as Natarle Badgiruel. Be proud that you are his child."

She nodded firmly, repeating Mama's words in her mind over and over again so she will never forget, and thus never break this promise, and Mama beamed with pride in her determinedness.

"And take care of Fllay, she needs you."

"I will, Mama," Natarle's replied, the quivering of her voice suppressed and steadied that every trace of her fears were removed from exposure.

And they sat in each other's company, hands held together, and everything else was quiet except for Mama's heavy breathing, gradually fading with the passing time. She was barely holding on, but still, only so that she could see her youngest child for once last time. They waited and waited, the bright daylight slowly dimming into colours of a crimson sunset, all the while Natarle was hoping to herself that Lewis would find her sister soon, because Fllay's last chance to see Mama might just slip away while she was busying herself elsewhere.

And then she heard it, the sound of a frantic set of footsteps and muffled cries getting gradually louder until it reached just outside the room, and the door burst open in a swing.

"Mama!" Fllay ran towards Mama, her eyes moist and distressed, and her hands grasping strongly onto Mama's the moment she reached her. "I'm sorry, Mama, I should have come earlier. I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, Fllay. I still get to see you now for one last time." Mama could barely make a voice now, only managing to speak in whispers and heavy breaths. "Be a good girl, listen to your sister."

"Mama-"

"I love you both, my darlings…"

That was the last smile Mama managed, and the weight on her eyelids finally overtook the strength she had left to keep them open; she let out her last breath, and quietly fell into eternal silence.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Without Mama, even passing time had become a difficult ordeal. Fllay was usually only able to be with her in the evenings, which left her with no company during the day. If Mwu were here that would have taken care of the problem, except he wasn't, since he only came to visit during summers, which the last summer was long gone and the next one still some time away.

So everyday, as if clockwork, it was breakfast, reading papers in the morning room, lunch, reading in the small parlour Papa's favourite book or the few which Father had bought her, afternoon tea, then to continue with her books or take a stroll around the estate until dinner was ready. Life was bland—like an eternity of waiting with no knowing where the end is—until the day Erica Simmons showed her the library.

She was sitting in the small parlour, Papa's book closed and placed on her lap after she had finished reading it—again; she had read it so many times that she had lost count. She could remember it all: the plot, the prose, the things its characters say, all the turning points and tiny details that gradually revealed the story. The book ceased bringing her the thrill it did the first time she read it; she still loved it, but she knew it too well, and there really was no point reading a book she already knew by heart.

Erica was serving her tea that day, and she must have noticed the boredom in Natarle's eyes as she stared at her book, sighing. "Miss Natarle, do you like that book a lot?" She asked when she handed the girl her tea, "I see you reading it all the time. And a few other titles, but that's all you ever read."

"Yes, they're all very good books, and I do like them very much. But I think I've read them too many times, and it's gotten rather unexciting."

"Why don't you read other books then?"

"I don't… have other books." She looked at the woman with a faint blush on her face, almost as if she was ashamed of saying it out. Erica had found it rather amusing, for there was no reason for feeling shame in something like this, yet her embarrassment made the girl more vulnerable than Erica had thought she was.

She had always liked Natarle, and was rather sympathetic to her circumstances. Of the many staff in Dominion Hall, only she and Lewis had been around long enough to know about the scandal that happened almost two decades ago; only them two were informed enough to be able to deduce the truth behind Natarle's origins. Despite that, she was good people, somewhat shy and uncertain of her place in the house, but she treated the staff well, and her respect and trust in them made them start looking up to her as the new mistress of the house, the person to go to when Frederick failed to respond to their queries—Elizabeth had taught her well. But if Elizabeth had not cut off her ties with her childhood friend and then-fiancée's family in order to marry Edward Badgiruel, Natarle might not have to suffer this rejection by her 'grandfather'. Now that Elizabeth was gone, this child was as good as abandoned.

Thank goodness Natarle was a sensible girl, and taking care of her was not at all difficult. She was never demanding; in fact, she always seemed hesitant when making requests, as if she was afraid to bother to them while being completely unaware of her new status—Erica even believed this may very well be the reason Natarle fell into this daily routine that involved no one else but herself. But she was still young—barely fourteen—and if life had already become boring for her so soon, what was she going to do with the days to come?

So when Erica heard Natarle confess for her lack of reading material, an idea came straight to her mind. "Miss Natarle, if you like reading, may I suggest you the library?"

The blank stare in Natarle's eyes made it clear for Erica that despite her two years of stay the girl had no knowledge of the said library.

"The library has a vast collection of books: literature, poetry, biographies, encyclopaedias; you will most certainly find something you like," Erica elaborated for her, and watched her violet orbs sparkle in eagerness, then strangely dimming again, as if there was something that made her feel uncertain this was a good idea.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Natarle?"

"Grandfather…" Natarle hesitated, until Erica nodded as an urge for her to continue, "Would it bother him if I used to the library?"

"I wouldn't think so; Sir Frederick doesn't use the library anymore. We still dust the place everyday, but other than that, nobody goes there."

Natarle sat up again in full attention, like a kitten waiting to be fed, and even without orders Erica knew exactly what to do. "Shall I show you the library after tea, Miss Natarle?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Natarle had fallen in love with the library the first moment she saw it. It was paradise; she could read as much as she liked, and need not worry about being a bother to anyone. Passing time was no longer a struggle, and in place of it a new problem presented itself—time passed too quickly now; when she was immersed in the world of books hours would fly past like minutes, and in a blink of eye it was time for another meal which she would have to put down whatever it was in her hands, and could only return to it after she had finished eating. No matter how much she read she could not get enough of it, and the only thing that could pull her away from her books was her dear little sister when she was finally freed from Grandfather's monopolization.

But today was one of the rare occasions when Grandfather had let Fllay free early, which was why Natarle was in a particularly good mood when Fllay had joined her for tea. Fllay was too, clinging tightly onto Natarle as the two sat together on the sofa, Fllay excitedly recounting her morning for her sister.

A small knock was heard, and the two turned towards the door which revealed a young girl with magenta-coloured hair dressed in a maid's outfit, holding a tea tray in her hands as she looked at them nervously. "Miss Natarle, Miss Fllay, I'm Lunamaria. Mrs. Simmons had… sent me to serve tea for you today."

Natarle nodded, indicating she had no problem with Erica's arrangement, but either Lunamaria was too nervous or too inexperienced that she made no move to start her work. Instead, she simply stood there awkwardly with a perplexed look on her face, all the while unable to take her eyes off the two occupants in the room.

When Fllay finally felt the stare, she looked towards the offender, eyeing the girl up and down and noted, "I've never seen you before. You're new."

"Y-yes, Miss Fllay…" Lunamaria stammered, "I've been here for a month."

"Alright then. Our tea, if you may," Fllay said offhandedly with disinterest in the newcomer, and quickly went back to talking with her sister.

There was a moment of quietness except for the sisters' chatter, then suddenly a crash was heard—the crisp sound of china breaking—followed by a frantic gasp that allowed anyone to easily guess what had happened. The two girls turned towards the same direction, where Lunamaria stood aghast staring at the broken pieces scattered at her feet.

"I'm so sorry!" the girl cried as she instantly fell onto her knees, gathering the pieces of china and putting them onto her apron for the lack of a better container. She stole a quick glance at her two mistresses; Fllay seemed uninterested, but the same could not be said for Natarle—her dissatisfaction could not be clearer with the frown she put on; her shoulders heaved then fell dramatically, and Lunamaria recognised it as a heavy sigh of frustration. _'She's angry,'_ Lunamaria's heard her own panicked voice yelling inside her mind, and her hands were now working quicker than they were before, as if on a race to finish cleaning up this mess before Natarle were to say something about it. But she was too distracted by the fact that Natarle was now pacing slowly towards her that she misjudged where her hand was to land, and had accidentally cut her hand with one of the smaller pieces.

"Ah!" she yelped, the loudness of her cry surprising even herself, prompting her to cover her mouth with her hands, a careless movement that lost her her balance and caused her to fall onto her bottom most ungracefully. As an unfortunate result, she was now staring straight at Natarle, looking like the most foolish and untalented maid ever in Dominion Hall's history.

"Put them down," Natarle commanded, eyeing the contents on her apron. She obeyed without a moment of delay, lowering all the broken pieces onto the floor and waited with her head down for the next set of instructions. She did not dare to look up again; the first time serving tea had ended in such a disaster, and she was sure Mrs. Simmons would be very disappointed in her, but that was not even half as bad as it was now—to be reprimanded by the lady of the house herself.

"Show me your hand," Natarle said, her face stoic as she reached for Lunamaria's hand. Lunamaria was reluctant; there was blood seeping out of her hand from the small cuts by the broken china, and she did not want her mistress to see the proof of how incompetent she was, but to refuse her would also mean disrespect, which would only add to the severity of her mistake. She obediently extended her hand out for Natarle to see, and waited for the worst.

Natarle quietly examined the wounds for a bit, and what she did next had completely caught Lunamaria by surprise: she had pulled out a handkerchief from her dress pocket and started dabbing it lightly on Lunamaria's wounds. Lunamaria had forgotten to respond; she was still trying to comprehend the fact that her mistress was not condemning her, but on the contrary she was tending her wounds—such a kind gesture that a servant like her would never have dreamed of. She felt her cheeks heat up, and her heart was beating so quickly that it could jump out from her chest any moment. "Mi-Miss Natarle, I cannot-… I'll be fine… Your- your handkerchief…"

"Natarle, are you done over there yet? Come back," Fllay's impatient voice sounded in the background, reminding Lunamaria there was someone else in the room. Natarle turned around, giving the girl a quick glance to tell her to wait—Lunamaria had noticed the kind patience in Natarle's amethyst eyes when she looked at her younger sister, with a hint of a smile from the corner of her lips—and Fllay had fell back into silence, letting Natarle go back to dressing Lunamaria's wound. Lunamaria caught sight of Fllay pouting towards her direction as she waited in her seat, yet not making any further complaints, and she had a feeling that the girl was blaming her for hogging her sister's attention.

"Don't worry about it, it's just a handkerchief," Natarle said as she tied the piece of cloth around Lunamaria's palm. "But you must be careful next time; we can't have you breaking all the good china."

"Yes, Miss Natarle!"

"Just leave the tea here now. Go to Mrs. Simmons to have your hand treated properly, and ask her to send someone else to take care of the tea."

Lunamaria smiled most brightly to Natarle, her gratitude and admiration apparent in her eyes. She bent down in a polite curtsy, "Yes, Miss Natarle. Thank you."

Watching the young maid hurry away, Natarle went back to her seat and sat down, her younger sister immediately seizing the chance to snake her arms around her into a tight embrace, just like how they were before the small episode had happened.

"I thought you would have scolded her; you surprised me this time. I am certain she will soon grow quite fond of you." Fllay spoke as nonchalantly as she could manage, but she couldn't suppress that tinge of envy that flamed up when she saw her sister's kindness towards another girl around her age.

"There are standards in this house, and these standards must be kept," Natarle replied matter-of-factly; she obviously had not caught the oddity in Fllay's voice. "But the girl is new here, for that I give her leniency. Just this once though."

"That was very sweet of you," Fllay purred.

"Anyone would be anxious when placed in a new environment, especially one as intimidating as Dominion Hall. Do you remember your first day here?"

Fllay giggled. "Mm-hmm. I was so scared of Grandpapa, wasn't I?"

"Yes you were. You were hiding behind me all the time."

"Because I knew you'd protect me." Fllay let go of her sister, instead allowing herself fall sideways onto the sofa with her head landing and Natarle's lap, her chirpy voice suddenly all serious. "You're my sister, my only family left now other than Grandpapa."

It was unusual for Fllay to be so sentimental, yet Natarle found this rare confession very heart-warming, for it had been such a long time ago since her sister last shared such intimacy with her. She patted on Fllay's head gently who was curled up beside her like a pet that needed the comfort from its owner. And as if a thought had suddenly come to her, Fllay turned her face upwards, looking straight into Natarle's eyes.

"Natarle, promise me something."

"What is it?"

"Promise me that we will always be close together, that you will stay by my side, no matter what happens. Promise me you will never abandon me."

She looked at Fllay; the girl's grey-blue eyes were filled with insecurity, and it reminded Natarle of the last thing Mama had ever asked of her. Fllay and Mama; she was not going to let either of them down.

"I promise, Fllay."


	11. 15th October

**15th October**

_Natarle showed me the library today. Such a glorious place it is, I've never seen so many books in my life! She brought me here as I told her I like to read but lack the material, and I think she was rather glad when she heard me say so, as she seemed very excited to have someone share the library with her. She said I could come here whenever I wanted to, and choose any book that catches my interest. _

_But I read rather slowly, I told her, so I might not be reading as many and as often as she does. She told me not to worry; as long as there was someone who found the books useful, it would be good enough. Too many books yet too few people reading them; they sit here on the bookshelves for years, taken down once every now and then only to be dusted and replaced in their spot, and that was all. It is a great pity—_"Such a waste of knowledge" _were the exact words she said, I think. _

_Surely there must be someone who reads these books; a library with such a grand collection must have been built with a purpose (which I hope not for decoration). Well, apparently Sir Frederick had contributed much to the library, but had lost his passion for it after losing first his wife and then his favourite child, just as he had lost his passion for everything else, even his remaining family. And after him, not many people had set foot into this place again until Natarle came along. _

_No one else in the house likes to read, so she is used to having this place all to herself; she says it is her sanctuary, the place where she is away from everything she wishes to not think about—including loneliness, I feel. Such a strange thing to hide from, is it not? But who am I to judge, for I have no knowledge of the loneliness she only hints of in our conversations; she does not talk about it, but it is in her voice, and in the look of her eyes, something in them that is so different from other women of her age, and sometimes I believe that I can feel it too by just observing her—it must be a very painful loneliness, that she becomes the loneliness itself. She talks about the other two girls' lack of interest in reading so indifferently, but I can tell she yearns for someone to share her passion with. Stellar likes to listen to stories yet never reads them (and her interests are only limited to fairytales and myths, which is essentially what this library lacks most), and Fllay does not have the patience for books. So it will be me now, who shall come here and share with her the joys of reading. I believe we will very much enjoy each other's company here, and I truly hope that my presence will be at least some kind of comfort to her. _

* * *

**Author's note**

Yup, that's it. Super short chapter this time.

Merry Christmas everybody!


	12. FIVE

**FIVE**

There were often times when Natarle sat alone in the library pondering what the purpose of her life was.

It had been two years already since Mama had passed away, and yet nothing much in her life had changed, everything staying just as it was first day she left her, boring and futile, with a gaping hole of emptiness that no matter how many books she read it would not be enough to fill. It was like time had become an endless cycle, with every day more or less the same; days began to blend into weeks, weeks into months, and months into seasons. Gradually she learnt to remember the times and seasons by the people around her: when she was alone with her books it were mornings and afternoons, when Fllay was with her it were evenings and nights; Mwu meant the end of Spring, Stellar and Muruta meant autumn was not far.

But was there a point in knowing the times and seasons for a life without purpose?

She would sometimes wish quietly to herself that she could go back to that street where she lived as a child; how would her life turn out if she had never left the place? Would it be more exciting and fulfilling? Would she have met new people, instead of seeing the same faces everyday as she was now? Would Mama still be here with her, or would misfortune have claimed her anyhow?

There were never going to be answers for these questions, and she knows better than to dwell in an imaginary pastime, so she keeps them to herself, and returns back to the dull life she lives, to the one treasure she still has, and wait patiently for the time she is needed again.

o-o-o

She was heading towards the library after lunch when she heard a pair of rushed footsteps following behind her. She turned around to see Lunamaria scuttling towards her.

"Miss Natarle," the girl stopped in front of her, giving a quick curtsy, then pulled out a small piece of folded paper and handed it to her. "Miss Fllay just asked me to give you this."

She immediately knew what it meant; this was not the first time Fllay asked Lunamaria to pass messages between them when she was unavailable to tell her things in person. Natarle was glad to see Fllay finally bonding with people other than her and Grandfather, especially someone of similar age; the child was not too fond of Lunamaria when she first arrived, but had slowly warmed to her after a few weeks of seeing her during tea—she suspected it was because Fllay felt left out from the interaction between Lunamaria and her, since Lunamaria was working very hard to impress her as to make up for the incident in the small parlour. She had witnessed the change in their relationship, from dislike to understanding, and now though still master and servant, there was also some kind of friendship between them, enough for Fllay to put trust in the girl to handle the secret correspondence between them.

But these little notes were also something that Natarle dreaded seeing—the notes usually came to her when there was an engagement between them Fllay cannot keep, and thus another disappointment. She bit her lip, and opened the folded paper.

_My darling sister,_

_I'm so sorry, I know I promised we could have the afternoon together, but Grandpapa's headache had suddenly left him and now he wants to go into town for dinner! You know I can't refuse him, and I wouldn't dare tell him I'd rather spend time with you, so I suppose that means I will not be seeing you till we return. We leave now, and should be coming back straight after dinner; Grandpapa will most definitely be tired after all that travelling so I suppose we won't be staying out there for long. I will come to your room to stay over for the night, as we planned before! Wait for me!_

_With love,_

_Fllay_

Natarle couldn't resist her smile; no matter how upset or disappointed she was, Fllay's notes would always make her feel that the bond between them was unbreakable, and those few more hours apart did not matter so much anymore. She tucked the note away, and looked at the maid, "Thank you, Luna."

o-o-o

Dressed in her nightgown Natarle sat on her bed with a book in her hands, waiting for Fllay's arrival. There was no knowing when she would return, but Natarle was intent on waiting; Fllay seemed to be looking forward to sleeping over in her room, and she did not want her sister coming over just to find that she had already fallen asleep without her. But waiting alone was a tedious task, and thankfully the book she had with her was a good companion. She flipped over page after page, chapter after chapter, until she heard a soft knock on the door, and a hushed voice from the other side, "Natarle, are you still awake?"

"Fllay, is it you?"

The door slowly opened, and the red-haired girl first peeked inside, then quickly slipped herself through, closing the door behind her.

"Natarle!" She dashed towards the bed and jumped onto it, hugging her sister elatedly. "You waited for me! I was so afraid that you were going to be asleep already; I was really looking forward to this."

"Of course I was going to wait for you," Natarle said softly. "I haven't seen you all day."

"I missed you too! We would have had such a great time if we had the afternoon together, but Grandpapa insisted on taking a trip into town. It was so boring!" She complained as she fell backwards onto the bed, her hand reaching forward to twiddle with Natarle's long tresses. "How was your day?"

"There's nothing to tell, it was just the same as any other day," Natarle said in an unexcited tone, trying not to move from the itchiness caused by Fllay playing with her hair. The young girl sat herself up again, finding a new idea for entertainment right at her fingertips; her hands slid smoothly down the dark hair, curling it around her fingers and sliding it into a loose braid, not quite paying attention to what more Natarle had to say, "But I'm sure there was at least something that was entertaining in town for you, was there not?"

"Hmm, it was alright. There's nothing new in the shops, so there wasn't much to see. Dinner was quite nice though," Fllay answered back nonchalantly, the tone in her voice as uninterested as her day seemed to her; she was more fascinated with styling Natarle's hair than recounting her day, untying the perfectly braided tresses and brushing them loose, then starting to style it differently again. "I love your hair, Natarle; it's so beautiful. I envy you."

"Hmm?" Natarle made a curious noise. She has heard it before; Fllay had mentioned more than once she liked her hair, and every time she came to sleepover she would play with her hair as they talked, exactly as she was doing now, and it seemed that there would never come the day she would tire of this activity.

Fllay drew a lock of Natarle's hair into mid-air, and let the dark silk slip though her fingers. "I love how soft and smooth it is. It's perfectly straight; mine curls at the ends, and I hate it. And yours have a purple tint like Mama's; it's such a beautiful colour!"

"But your red hair is beautiful too. It's rare in Father's side of the family, isn't it? And Grandfather likes it very much."

"Yes…" Fllay answered, dragging the word on to emphasis her uncertainty, "But it's still nothing like Mama's. I've always wished it was more like Mama's and yours, it makes me feel like I'm the odd one in the family."

She might have felt that way, yet Natarle knew who in truth was the one that did not belong with the family. Fllay's ignorance had set off a prickly feeling inside her, made her nervous to even think that there may be one day when Fllay finally realises the truth. How will she take it? Will she still accept her as her sister, or will she look down on her for her illegitimacy?

"But you'll always be Mama's child," Natarle said. She could not figure if she said that to offer some sort of consolation to her sister, or to disguise her own dishonesty.

Thankfully the unease in her voice went unnoticed to Fllay. The girl leaned in and wrapped her arms around Natarle's shoulders for a tight embrace. "And you," she whispered quietly to her ear, "will always be my dearest sister."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"I do hope we'll be back before September. I really don't think Grandpapa can tolerate being away from Dominion Hall for so long, so I suppose once the three of them leave we can come back. Oh, I forgot to mention, I'll be bringing Luna with me to take care of my things."

Natarle sat on Fllay's bedside, listening to her sister explain the situation as she went through her closet picking outfits, and Lunamaria standing aside filling suitcase after suitcase the things she needed for her two-month trip. Natarle tried not to let her emotions show, but she was just too angry and frustrated, and she knew there was nothing she could do to convincingly hide that sulky face she wore.

"I'll need this dress, and… the white hat- no, the _pink_ hat, to go with it," Fllay busily pointing out for Lunamaria the items she needed, and in a moment of hesitation she turned to her sister, "Natarle, what do you think?"

Hearing herself being addressed, Natarle looked up and nodded perfunctorily, her look distracted enough to let Fllay know she hadn't given the question proper thought. Fllay moved across the room and sat beside her sister, taking her hands into her own and looked at her with the most apologetic eyes. "Oh Natarle, please don't be sad. I should've told you about it earlier, but I knew you'd be upset about it; I just thought the later you knew, the better."

Natarle appreciated Fllay's thoughtfulness, but when she knew about it would not have made much difference; the fact that she was going to be away for the summer—to accompany Grandfather during his two-month trip around the country in his effort to avoid seeing his other three grandchildren—was distressing no matter how much notice she gave her. "But I don't understand; they've been visiting every summer, which Grandfather always hides away and never comes out to see them anyway. What difference does it make in hiding in his room and leaving the estate?"

Fllay shrugged, but it was not that she did not know the reason; her shrug simply showed that after spending so much time with Grandfather she could not still fully understand what goes through his mind. "It must have been the quarrel he had with Muruta about the heritance last year; Grandpapa said he didn't even want to risk the slightest chance of seeing him. He said he should just forbid them three visiting anymore, but I know you've always enjoyed Mwu's company for the summer, so I asked him not to. And somehow he came up with this idea."

Natarle didn't know whether to be thankful or displeased at the end result. She forced out the most appreciative smile she could manage, though she knew from the sympathetic way Fllay looked back at her it was hardly convincing.

"I'll write back, I promise," Fllay said, "And you must write to me too, and tell me everything that happened while I'm away. Remember to tell me once Mwu and the others have decided on their departure dates so I can ask Grandpapa to bring us back."

"I will," Natarle assured her, her eyes reluctant yet sincere. "When are you leaving?"

"In three days," Fllay replied, and Natarle's frown only deepened at the realisation of the little time they had left. "Look on the bright side," The younger girl said cheeringly, "Mwu will be arriving within the week. You'll have a great time."

Natarle quietly wished to herself that Fllay's words would come true; it was the first time the sisters spent so long away from each other, and the fact was Natarle had never felt so terrified, so insecure, and so uncertain of something before in her life.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Surprising how it was, that although whether or not Fllay was here within the boundaries of the estate should not have too much to do with him, the effect it had on Natarle was still strong enough for Mwu to feel its influence.

At first he was not well aware of the change, only catching a small hint of it when he felt Natarle was not as excited as she used to be with his arrival. Then little by little, he began to sense it: she was always on the edge, her temper would flare up in moments he least expected it, only for her to apologise for her rashness afterwards when he had already forgotten about the matter; she would easily tire of his jokes and attempts to cheer her up, and fall into long periods of silence as if forgetting altogether of his company. Even the presence of Muruta and Stellar, who had arrived five weeks after him, wouldn't bother her anymore, whereas in the past she would have avoided being in the same room with them as much as possible. He had more than once caught her staring into blank space with a contemplative frown, sighing to herself as acceptance of another disappointment, and he knew instantly the disappointment was for another day of not seeing her little sister.

"What you need, I'd think, is some fresh air," he said to her, when he finally decided he had enough of this silence. "All this brooding won't do you any good."

Clearly the household staff could not agree more with him; a simple _"She needs to get out there"_ and Mwu already had the staff up on their feet and arranging for the perfect outdoor afternoon for them. So while they busied around preparing their afternoon tea in the garden, Mwu took her for a long walk around the estate grounds.

She had at first merely 'walked'—just as he had asked, but not quite what he had in mind—rushing off by herself as if the stroll was an arduous task he had given her, and he had to ask time after time to slow down and relax. "Are you that desperate to get away from me?" he asked, half jokingly, the other half sounding rather serious.

But she looked at him with a surprised face as though his words had reminded her of something; she sheepishly lowered her head, and mumbled softly, "No. I… I'm not trying to get away from you."

"Are you positive? Because it feels to me I'm not quite welcome here in Dominion Hall this summer. Do you miss Fllay this much that you'd rather be alone than have my company?" Mwu teased a bit, but was careful with his tone so he did not sound like criticizing her; the last thing he wanted was to get her into a mood worse than now.

One moment she was nodding her head hesitantly, then the next she was fervently shaking it, looking very confused as though she didn't know how she should be responding. She bit her lip, and Mwu made a small 'um-hmm' sound, imploring her to continue. "Yes, I miss Fllay… But I don't dislike your company. You _know_ that."

"Lovely," he replied with a smug grin, "Good to know you haven't tired of me yet." Of course he knew, he was just teasing. He also knew better than to take Natarle at her words; to understand her one needed to listen to not what she says, but what she did not say, and for her to say she did not dislike his company meant there was a very high possibility that she actually _liked_ it. He felt relieved; as an only child he understood what it felt like to be constantly left alone without a playmate, yet none the children in the Allster lineage did he feel close to enough to substitute for a sibling—except for Natarle, who had now become like a younger sister to him. It was only after her family's arrival at Dominion Hall that he began to enjoy his stays, and he would surely be disappointed if she ever did come to tire of his company.

His thoughts trailed back to a promise he made long ago, in the quietness of the evening in the small parlour room, to a weak, tired, and desperate patient. _"I would like to ask for a favour from you. It may sound to you a selfish request, but at this point of my life I suppose its appropriateness would be the least of my concerns, and in all honesty, I don't know who else to ask other than you. I need your help, Mwu; please take care of my two daughters after I have left. Particularly Natarle. She thinks she is independent, but she doesn't realise how much she fears to be left alone. This child's life has never been easy because of me, but I don't have the time I need to make mends. I'm worried about what her life would become. Look after her, guide her; she may not agree or even recognise that she needs your help, but it will do her good."_

He now understood where his Aunt Elizabeth's worries came from; with her gone, Fllay was the only remaining person Natarle would regard as family. Fllay was the comfort zone she needed in a world where only strangers remained—he knew, from the comparison of her behaviour towards Fllay and Aunt Elizabeth and to him, that he was merely a close companion, yet much far from being true family. She had made her sister the sole focus in her life, refusing to let anyone or anything become familiar enough to distract her, to break this one last blood bond she has. It was a constant sense of longing so intense that was almost a fault, and Mwu knew he must do something to change this perception of hers. But where to start with this stubborn child?

He bent down and looked at her straight in the eye—when she tried to turn away shyly he held the back of her head to force her look back at him. "Now do you trust me when I tell you even without Fllay we can have a good time together?"

He couldn't make out her expression; she seemed to be cross and embarrassed, yet there was also a bit of expectancy in that suppressed smile. She shrugged a little, but Mwu refused to take this as an answer, "So?"

"Yes, I suppose," she mumbled so quietly that he had almost missed her reply.

He smiled brightly and straightened himself as though he had just been relieved of a heavy burden on his back. "It's going to be a great summer, I promise."

o-o-o

The rest of the stroll was much less hurried. When they finally got back to the garden, their afternoon tea was already laid out on the table inside the gazebo, with Erica standing on the side awaiting their arrival.

"Thank you, Mrs. Simmons, for arranging this," Natarle said at she sat down.

"My pleasure, Miss Natarle. I hope your walk was an enjoyable one," Erica answered while stealing a quick glance at Mwu; he caught her look and grinned ever so lightly, an implication that the plan had went well.

Suddenly a rustling sound was heard from behind them. Both Mwu and Natarle turned around expecting to see a hare or some other small animal come out of the bushes, but Erica said surely, "It must be Miss Stellar; she came out to play in the garden while you two were taking your walk."

As soon as the words came out, the young blonde emerged from the rose bushes, moving on her knees with a bunch of flowers in her arms and leaves entangled in her clothes and hair. She stood up and smiled at her flowers, unaware of the three people who were looking at her.

"Hello, Stellar," Mwu called out to her.

Like an obedient pup the young child raised her head and ran to the source of the sound. "Mwu?" She answered to his call with a tilt of her head, suggesting she was expecting more than just a greeting from him.

"How's your day been?"

"Good."

"You've got some very nice flowers."

"Yes."

"What will you being doing with them?"

"Nothing."

It was an awkward conversation, Mwu noted, as were all conversations with Stellar usually were. Mwu had never gotten the chance to know her well, and had constantly found himself at a loss when interacting with her. The child always hung closely around Muruta, and never spoke unless absolutely necessary; when she did, it was like just now, only in single words or fractured sentences. She was a curious child: she seemed always interested in the things around her—animals, plants, architecture, scenery—but never the people. She was difficult to understand, but Mwu never stopped trying.

"Stellar, would you like to join us for tea?"

"Yes," she nodded, "but Stellar can't."

Her answer caught Mwu by surprise. "Why not?"

Stellar turned her head towards Natarle. "Because Muruta told Stellar not to go anywhere near her," the child explained matter-of-factly, unaware how the directness of her answer weighed on the very person she was referring to. But Natarle did not seem offended, and had looked back at Stellar with an expression that showed she had long accepted this.

Stellar stared at the young woman wordlessly, and stood like that for a rather long while; she knew Mwu was saying something to her, but she wasn't hearing—all she was interested in was the dark-haired girl that Muruta kept warning her about. Then all of a sudden she jolted, her eyes full of shock as if she had suddenly remembered something she ought to have been mindful of. Turning herself around swiftly, she headed back towards the manor.

* * *

**Author's note**

I've decided to upload one more chapter today just because it's Christmas even, which means it's Natarle's birthday! Happy Birthday to Natarle :P and Merry Christmas again everyone!


	13. The Cottage on the Cliff

**The Cottage on the Cliff**

It was unusually quiet this morning, Arnold noticed as he approached the dining room. Normally by this distance he could already hear the chattering of the occupants inside, but now not a single sound was heard. Just as he was nearing the doors he heard a voice behind calling him, and there was Mwu, catching up to him.

"Mornin'. It's awfully quiet today, isn't it?"

Arnold nodded as they entered the dining room, where they found everything in place as they should be: Lewis standing on the side ready to serve his masters and guests, a vast breakfast of wide-ranging choices laid out on the table, newspapers placed on a small trolley ready to be picked up and read—all that was missing were those people who were supposed to be here enjoying this meal.

They had arrived slightly later than usual, but only by about five or ten minutes, and Arnold doubted that the others had came and went so quickly that they had missed every single one of them.

"Lewis, where is everyone?" Mwu asked in equal puzzlement.

"They're all in the morning room, Sir," Lewis answered dutifully. "I'm afraid Miss Stellar is unwell, and they're there with her right now."

The news was quite unexpected as the young girl seemed perfectly well at dinner yesterday; Arnold quietly hoped it was not something serious. They thanked Lewis, then turned around and headed towards the morning room.

o-o-o

When they opened the door, the first thing Arnold recognised was the sound of muffled crying. The rest of the people were all there, and had positioned themselves in a half-circle at the sofa near the window, with Stellar in the middle, her face hidden in Fllay's large dress as she sobbed, and Fllay gently stroking her head to comfort her. Beside them was Murrue who sat quietly, who acknowledged their entrance with a nod. Both young ladies wore a worried look, in contrast to Natarle, who was standing alone by the window behind the sofa with the most troubled expression hung on her face.

The two men approached them in light footsteps, but Fllay noticed and looked up towards them, informing them with a light whisper, "She had a nightmare—about Muruta."

Stellar must have heard them, because she quickly sat up, and with tears still streaming down her face she cried, "Stellar saw him—he was so close, so real! Muruta was _there_, Mwu, it couldn't have been just a dream. Could Muruta be back?"

Arnold noticed from the corner of his eye how Natarle flinched at Stellar's words; the frown she was wearing had deepened, and her already pale skin looked even whiter—the nightmare seemed more distressing to her than to the tearful girl. Mwu seemed to notice it too as he glanced her way with concern, but she shook her head dismissively, implying that this was not the time to be worried about her.

Taking the hint he moved closer to Stellar instead, kneeling down and patting on her head lightly, and spoke with a gentle voice that Arnold had never before heard him use, "Would you like to go for a walk, Stellar, to get some fresh air? You would feel much better after that."

"Muruta hasn't come back, has he?" Stellar asked with disappointment resounding in her words—clearly she already guessed the answer. When Mwu shook his head slowly to confirm her thoughts, she asked again, "Can we go to the cottage? Stellar wants to have a look."

Mwu hesitated for a moment, "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Stellar, maybe it's not a good-"

"_Please_. Mwu knows what that place is for Muruta. Stellar just wants to see it."

"Alright, we'll go." Mwu sounded very hesitant, but still agreed as now it seemed this was the only way to soothe the girl's troubled emotions.

"I will come too," Fllay declared immediately, clutching onto Stellar's hand to show her support. Mwu nodded, then looked Murrue who smiled back in agreement.

"Right then, let's go now. You too, Arnold. Everybody out," he said, ushering them all up from their places and pointed them towards the door—everyone except Natarle, whom he stopped in her tracks. "Natarle, you stay here."

"But-"

"No but's, you're not going," he ordered firmly. The dissatisfaction in her eyes was too obvious to miss; Mwu let out a heavy sigh, and his voice reverted back to the soft one he had been using for Stellar just now—it seemed to Arnold that he had this comforting tone reserved for the girls; he must be an expert at handling them. "Natarle, you know why I don't want you to go. Stay here and get some good rest, _please_; you look awfully tired. We'll be back very soon, I promise."

She nodded obediently despite her unwillingness, and much contented Mwu turned around towards Luna's direction; Arnold had not even noticed the young maid's presence until now, which she was standing near the door speaking quietly to Fllay. "Go fetch Miri," Mwu requested, "and tell her to look after Natarle for me."

"I'll be fine—_alone_," Natarle insisted, but Mwu ignored her comment. "Go now, Luna, and thanks."

Lunamaria had turned towards Fllay with concern in her eyes; less like a servant confirming the orders with her mistress, more like a concerned companion asking whether there was any way she could be of more use in this time and place. Fllay did not seem too sure of her own decision, but she nodded back an affirmation, and Lunamaria took her orders quickly, giving Mwu a brief curtsy and left the room.

Mwu turned back towards Natarle after Lunamaria's departure, and wagged his finger as he gave his instruction, "Don't start thinking about useless things, everything will be fine." She looked away to avoid his suspicious stare, but Arnold saw it—there was so much worry in her eyes that he doubted whatever was on her mind would be leaving anytime soon.

o-o-o

The cottage they talked about was at the very edge of the estate—it stood on the top of a rock cliff, situated at the end of a long path that led all the way from the back of the manor.

Stellar was agitated and eager, impatient all along the way as the journey was a long one, but the nearer they were to their destination, the more she lost that restlessness. Her footsteps became heavier, and in the end Fllay, who was holding her hand throughout the walk, almost had to drag her towards the cottage when they finally approached it. He wondered what was going through the young blonde's mind; she knew that she shouldn't be expecting to see her brother behind those cottage doors, but it would have been impossible for anyone in her situation not to hope for such a surprise. After all, Muruta had only been missing for just a few months short of one year, and so far no bad news had come for the family; it was still very possible that he was alive and had returned, just as the girl had dreamt.

The girl slid the key into the lock, slowly turning it until a click was heard. The door opened with a sharp creaking sound, revealing the dim and dusty interior of the cottage. The curtains were half-shut, allowing only a thin veil of sunlight in, and the furniture were left uncovered, gathering dust in this deserted place. There were all sorts of things scattered around: clothes, books, and plenty of both empty and half-consumed wine bottles—most likely the reason they smelt in the stale air also a stench of sour liquor. It seemed they were the first guests this place had seen for a very long period of time; perhaps the place had been deliberately forgotten, everything left untouched as it awaited its rightful owner's return.

Like treading on thin ice, Stellar took each step with utmost caution, surveying every corner of the cottage, seeking, hoping, waiting, wandering around aimlessly until she had decided to settle in the spot in front of the wine cabinet, and was staring at it like it was her worst enemy. Mwu went up to her and softly landed his hand on her shoulder, and she quickly spun around, wrapping her arms around him and hid her face in his chest—finally, it seemed, she had come to terms with the fact that her brother, despite what she had dreamt and wished, had never returned.

She recovered quickly though, with only a bit of comforting by Mwu and Fllay her natural spiritedness returned. She asked to leave the place with a cheerful smile, like she had already forgotten the sorrows that brought them here. They all laughed and played on the way back, and Arnold would have believed she was genuinely happy again, except there was this feeling in his gut that kept nagging him, begging him to look past the obvious.

And slowly, steadily, like a crimson sunset creeping through half closed curtains, realisation dawned upon him.

All along the two girls were trying very hard to make them feel comfortable and welcomed in this house, but there was always something in the air—in the way they would suddenly fall quiet and still, then snap back into their usual liveliness; in the way conversations would twirl in circles or head on aimlessly or come to an abrupt turn, like they kept on with the small talk in order to avoid something else. Even Mwu seemed a bit different at times; he could not pinpoint exactly what it was, but he seemed more careful and hesitant, as if he needed to think before he took each next step, and that was very uncharacteristic of him.

"_Not if we are careful"_, he suddenly remembered. A few short words the man spoke the first night, his voice urgent yet solid, quietened by the night breezes. _"They won't know if we are careful"_—the assurance he gave to that woman; the very words that allowed Arnold to a glimpse of that distinctive sadness in her eyes, the one thing he now could not keep off his mind.

Then he comprehended, something that had not crossed his mind before, but was now perfectly clear—like the mist had cleared in front of him, only for him to find himself surrounded, lost in a maze he never knew he had entered.

This house held a secret.

o-o-o

All this time they were away she had been waiting for their return.

She must have ran, for she was panting slightly, her face flushed in pink as she stood at the top of the stairs. She looked at them but dared not ask, her attention dancing back and forth between the cousins as she tried to determine what to make of the situation.

Fllay wanted to speak, but Stellar was quicker. She pranced up the stairs and gave the woman a warm hug, as if she was the one who needed the comforting instead. Natarle was surprised, but nonetheless soothed by the girl's high spirits. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Everything's alright now," Stellar smiled the brightest smile, "_Stellar's_ alright now."

"How was… the cottage?"

"Just as it's always been; still a messy place, exactly as Muruta had left it."

The name had obviously struck a nerve for she instinctively pulled back a bit when she heard it. Stellar held onto her hand, seeming very prepared for a reaction like this; she pulled Natarle down a bit while herself standing on her toes to meet Natarle's height, and whispered something into her ear.

Natarle visibly relaxed after hearing what Stellar had to say. She looked towards Mwu's direction, then Fllay's, looking for some kind of affirmation from them, which she did receive in the form of nods and tense smiles. She was calmed now, but still at unease—a look of someone who knew the matter was far from resolved, yet uncertain if would ever be. She turned, ready to leave, then curiously, in the briefest of moments, she stole a quick glance at Arnold, with an expression he could not decipher.

It was either his eyes were playing a trick on him, or he had simply misread her, but he could have sworn that there was, amongst a confusing mix of emotions, an overwhelming sense of guilt clouding those beautiful amethyst eyes.

* * *

**Author's note**

Happy New Year everyone!


	14. 8th November

**8th November**

_Dear Lord, I do hope Stellar will forgive me! I should always remember to think before I speak now, or else I will again upset her in the most silly and unintended ways, which is not a very nice thing to do to such a sweet girl!_

_But at least I know now that the cottage is a forbidden territory—at least, in terms of speech._

_Now with hindsight it was rather insensible of me to ask Stellar if I could visit the cottage. Natarle was very kind with her words, saying it wasn't my fault because I had no idea what the cottage meant to Stellar—or to Muruta, if I were more precise with regards to the root cause. Of course Natarle is correct to say that I had no knowledge whatsoever, but I have still hurt Stellar's feelings, and I do feel so deeply sorry about it. I truly hope she will try not to think about it too much, and forget about it altogether soon enough._

_And either to satisfy my curiosity, or that she believed I would find comfort in knowing, Natarle explained that there wasn't much worth seeing at the cottage anyway. It was a small cottage that stood on the cliff above the seaside where the north side of estate ends. In the past it was used as a resting place for those within the estate who liked to go to the beach nearby at the bottom of the cliff; apparently it is rather difficult to get down there, having to climb the rather steep and rocky path along the cliff, and then walk a distance before finally reaching the beach, which I suppose is why no one ever goes there anymore. _

_The fact that the cottage was separated from the main estate and abandoned was exactly why Muruta liked it so much, because it meant that he could have the place all to himself. As the master of the estate, he was a rather irresponsible person, for Natarle says he often hid away in the cottage in order to avoid being asked by the servants matters regarding the estate. But the cottage also served another purpose—it was his haven when he was in a low mood and needed to escape from the world. He never allowed anyone to step foot into the place (except for Stellar, which Natarle recalls one or two occasions when he brought her there with him), and even the servants aren't permitted to enter and clean up the place. The place is a tragic mess: wine bottles, tattered clothes, and all sorts of discarded items—it is not a pretty sight, and Natarle says I should count it as my good fortune that I don't have to see how the place looks like. If it wasn't for Stellar's insistence, Natarle would've had someone clean it up already—not that she could without Stellar's permission; there are only two keys to the place: one is with Stellar, the other with Muruta—but given what the place means to the girl, it is only understandable why Natarle would let her have it her way. _

_Never mind, it isn't a great deal that I don't get to see the cottage. I suppose it is best that I don't disturb that place as well, for I might risk upsetting Stellar again by doing so. Let's just leave it as it is, and let her memories sleep for now._

* * *

**Author's note**

Thanks the-peculiar-matchmaker for your reviews and PMs, I really enjoy chatting with you :D I know you've been waiting long for this update and it's rather short, I promise I'll try to make my next one quick!


	15. Bright Lights

**Bright Lights**

With the borrowed book in one hand, he raised his other and knocked on those heavy doors, immediately feeling rather foolish for having done so. The library was for everyone to use, and he needn't treat it like it was her private room. But this way was probably better—having startled her once was quite enough; if he did it too often, he feared she might become so frightened of him that she would rather hide away for the rest of the summer. Not to mention when considering the drama that happened earlier in the day, it would be a sensible thing to do to tread carefully so as not to upset her emotions.

He waited for a while, and knocked again. "Yes?" came the reply in a surprised voice.

He opened the door slowly, and saw that the woman was sitting in the same place he found her in his first visit, this time fully aware of her guest's arrival.

"Arnold?" She stared at him with a puzzled—even somewhat shocked—expression on her face. Clearly she was not expecting a visitor.

"Hello. How are you doing?" he asked. She had disappeared for the rest of the morning after her brief conversation with Stellar when they had returned from the cottage, and he had gotten quite worried about her. It was at lunch when she finally reappeared in front of them, yet she had not spoken a word for the entire duration, her mind clearly elsewhere as she barely even noticed their many attempts to catch her attention.

"I'm… fine, thank you." She looked away, avoiding his eager eyes. "I know this morning must have been quite a shock to you and Murrue, and I apologise for that. Stellar has never had nightmares like this before, I suppose we were quite at loss for what to do."

"Please don't worry about it, Murrue and I are fine. Stellar is too; she seems to have recovered quite well after the little trip. It is, in fact, you that we are concerned about. You've been very quiet throughout lunch, and you didn't even come to join us for coffee."

"I- I am alright!" She replied in a voice slightly louder than he had expected, as though she was forcing herself to believe in her own words, and along with the bit of stubbornness in her tone, that it would convince him too to believe the same. "You shouldn't have worried at all!"

"Yes, I'm sure you are," he smiled reassuringly; her cheeks warmed into a faint rose colour, which he most certainly recognised the effect his words had on her. "Just keep in mind, please, that if there is anything I can do for you, don't ever hesitate to tell me. I'd be most honoured to be of your help."

He heard her mumble something that sounded like a 'thank you', and then staying quiet once more; her soft lips parted a few times, wanting to speak, but then closed again, undecided. Finally, she asked, "Was there something else you wanted from me?"

'_Surely you didn't come by only because you were worried about me?'_ He could almost hear her say those words—what he deemed to be her true thoughts—when he saw her delicate, blushing features pull into a faintly uncertain frown as she questioned. Of course there were a millions things he wanted to ask; for the two weeks so far he had spent as a guest in this house, he has had questions thrown in his way one after another, and unfortunately, not a single one had he been able to find an answer for yet. But he knows he needs to be careful, and patient; the Allster's do seem very cautious about the secrets they guard, and he does not want to lose their trust before he has even fully gained it.

"I came to return the book I borrowed from you last time," he said as he handed her the item. "You were right; it is a very good book. I enjoyed it immensely."

She took the book into her hands and softly ran her fingers across the cover, and only from this gesture did Arnold realise that this was a book she truly treasured; yet when she decided to lend it to him, she did it without the slightest bit of hesitation. He hadn't any idea if she feels for him what he does for her, nevertheless her generosity was definitely a spark of hope for him. But if this were a spark, what he saw next brought fireworks.

She looked up from the book, and as if she had forgotten her bearings she took a moment searching for her focus, which swiftly but surely, landed on him. And then, she smiled—the first time ever, a smile that was meant only for him.

It was a smile of pride and contentment; genuine, frank, and blindingly bright, that had Arnold mesmerized, unable to think of anything else except for the fact that she was so very, _very_ beautiful.

He was sure he had been staring for too long that it could be considered inappropriate, but she didn't seem to have noticed, for she was too caught up in her own delight of hearing praise for the recommendation she had made.

"I'm very glad you liked it. It was my Papa's favourite; it's mine too—it is because of this book that I discovered the joys of reading."

For a person who rarely smiled, it was very difficult to imagine that such simple things could already please her so much. He had never met any person—any _woman_—like her, so mysterious and distant, yet innocent and sincere, her conflicting qualities giving her such a uniqueness, though she was completely unaware of her own charm.

And at this exact moment, Arnold knew he could never be more certain that this woman was the one he wanted to spend all his love on for the rest of his life.

She looked at him, tilting her head sideways a bit as she finally realised the way he stared at her was a bit different than usual. "Arnold?" she asked, her voice a little unsure.

"Your father most certainly had a good taste for books. Were there any other books he recommended? I should definitely read those as well."

Her eyes widened and she fell silent, as though his words had stirred up forgotten memories. "My _father_…" She lowered her eyes again and stared at the book in front of her, her violet irises full of nostalgia. "No, sorry, this is the only one."

He hit himself mentally; he did remember saying to himself to be careful of where he stepped so he would not upset her unnecessarily, which was exactly what he was doing wrong now. Of course he wanted to know more about her history, but today was probably not the best time. "Well, what about you?" he tried to retract his misstep, "Is there anything else you'd recommend to me?"

"I- um… I suppose…" She got up from her seat and walked towards the bookshelves behind her, sweeping her slender fingers across the titles as she strolled along them; she stopped a few times, her hand hesitantly landing on the book spines then pulling away again, until she finally found one she was satisfied with. "Try this one," she handed Arnold the book, "It's a detective story; not quite the same as the one you've just read, but nonetheless a good book."

He thanked her and took a seat—exactly the same seat he chose last time, across from where she always sat—and opened the book in his hands. Then almost an afterthought, he looked up and asked almost innocently, "I hope you don't mind if I come and join you more often? After all, the library is usually the best place for reading."

Of course, it was a question she would not, and even _could_ not, refuse.

o-o-o

They had settled into a pleasant routine: every afternoon after lunch and coffee, which unless they had other commitments, the two of them would come to the library to spend the afternoon. Sometimes they would sit in absolute silence, concentrating only on the book they had in their hands; sometimes they would be discussing a book they had both read, sharing opinions on plots and characters they liked and disliked; and sometimes, they would talk about just anything—anything, almost, except for those forbidden territories Natarle would never allow anyone to trespass.

But that was already more than what Arnold had hoped for, and he was content for now.

He was running a bit late today, having to finish a letter he needed to send home before he could head off to the library. On his way he passed through a corridor where at the end of it was a young maid walking towards his direction. He must have seen her somewhere before; her shoulder-length tawny brown hair and turquoise coloured eyes looked very familiar. She smiled as she approached, and curtseyed when she stopped in front of him. "I hope you are doing well, Mr. Neumann?"

"Yes, thank you. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid your name has escaped me," he replied.

"It's Miriallia, Sir, but if you like you can just call me Miri."

Suddenly a rush of footsteps was heard, and Arnold turned around to see Lunamaria running towards them.

Almost immediately disappointment fell onto Miriallia's face. "Miss Lunamaria Hawke, how many times would you need me to remind you that you are not to run in the corridors, or anywhere inside the house, even?"

The magenta haired girl almost did not bother slowing herself down, despite having been reproached by the other maid. Clearly she was in such a rush that she had nearly forgotten her manners; she did a quick, light bow and greeted Arnold in a way that showed she had only just remembered it was required of her, before turning back to the brown-haired girl. "I'm sorry, Miri!" She apologised and stuck her tongue out playfully. "Good grief, Miri, you're starting to sound a lot like Miss Natarle," she whispered under her breath, earning herself a chiding glare from Miri. "Anyhow, this is important!" she exclaimed, and then having realised that she was speaking rather loudly, lowered her voice and continued carefully, "Abby asked me to come and get you. She said it's very urgent."

Judging by the astonishment Miriallia showed—clearly she had understood something without Lunamaria having to speak it out—it was a very important matter. She bowed her head towards Arnold and asked, "Will you please excuse us, Mr. Neumann?" Having barely even waited for an answer she had already pulled Lunamaria along with her and headed off.

It was after they had left that Arnold noticed one of them had dropped something amidst the small commotion, brought to his attention by the contrast of its whiteness against the dark coloured carpets under the gleaming sun. He bent down to pick up the item that had landed near his feet; it was a small handkerchief, cheap and of low quality that was befitting for a maid, and in one of its corners was sewed neatly two small letters—'M.H.'


	16. SIX

**SIX**

A year had passed, and summer was here again, but this time, it was much different from all the previous summers she had. For the first time since Natarle had taken up residence in Dominion Hall was she under the same roof _with_ the Azrael siblings and _without_ Mwu.

She had never anticipated this—that Mwu would prefer to spend the first and better half of his summer with his two best friends, and_ then_ come back to Dominion Hall for the remaining three weeks or so. Her heart plunged the moment she received the news, and only then she realised how much she came to rely on him for company, how she had taken him for granted.

She was lost; the solitude she could handle—after all it was her one constant companion—but the Azrael siblings were a different story. It was Mwu who handled them for her; he was always the first to step forward when Muruta deliberately came looking for trouble with Fllay or her, or when Stellar's innocent yet blunt comments had brought awkwardness to an otherwise pleasant occasion.

Yes, she had taken him for granted for too long, but from now on, she vowed to herself, she would be independent. Nothing lasts forever; by now she should have learnt this story well enough. There would finally come the day when Mwu inherits his own father's house and start his own family—it would be the day he shall leave Dominion Hall and never turn back—and she would not let her reliance become his burden.

o-o-o

The good thing was Muruta no longer spent much of his time around the manor, for he and Grandfather were still not on speaking terms. Grandfather had chose not to leave Dominion Hall this summer, which meant Muruta was the one who had to make the effort to avoid them two running into each other. He made some new acquaintances in town, and often headed out there early in the morning and not returning till late night.

As for Stellar, she was a slightly peculiar child. Wherever Natarle went with the impression that she was alone, she would, eventually, always find the girl hiding in a nearby corner. Curiously, she would only be lurking around when Natarle was by herself; on days when Fllay was around she would be nowhere to be seen. The first few times Natarle imagined it was a coincidence, but coincidences do not happen two times a day, five days a week, and gradually she came to suspect that she was being followed by the girl.

Then one afternoon, the mystery was solved.

She was in the small parlour, with Erica serving her tea, when she spotted a small movement near the doors. She looked over, and saw the golden-haired girl hiding behind the doors, peering towards her direction. Of these many 'hide-and-seek' situations—it wasn't that they were really playing the game, but Natarle could not think of anything more appropriate to term these 'coincidences'—it was the first time they had locked eyes and that the girl chose not to escape after being discovered. Instead, she kept staring back with such intensity in her cherry-coloured eyes that made Natarle shy away instead.

She kept staring though, refusing to move away and determined to force Natarle acknowledge her presence. Finally, when Natarle could no longer take her gaze, she let out a sigh and asked, "Is there something you need, Stellar?"

The girl's eyes lit up as soon as she heard her name being called. She came out from her hiding place and stood hesitantly but properly at the door, like she was waiting for some kind of permission to enter. "May Stellar come and sit with you?" She asked in an unexpectedly timid voice—a voice that completely lacked its usual bluntly indifferent tone.

Natarle frowned. "Your brother won't be happy about it if he finds out you are spending time with me."

From the disappointed expression on Stellar's face Natarle could tell she already knew this before she had asked. The girl looked to the floor, her small hands tugging onto her own dress as she shifted awkwardly, slightly unwilling to take Natarle's words as a refusal. "But Muruta's not here; Muruta's gone out again. Stellar… doesn't want to be alone anymore."

Natarle did not respond at first, looking away from the girl back to the cup of tea in her hands. She could easily decline the girl if she didn't want any trouble from Muruta, but she could not bring herself to say no; the girl's plea was so painfully familiar, and to refuse her would be like denying a part of her own self—the piece of her own self, buried deep in the core of her heart, that constantly wished for her Papa and Mama, for Fllay, and for everyone else that should have been here, beside her, with her.

She stole a glance at Stellar from the corner of her eyes, and let out a long, heavy sigh of submission. "You can come and have some tea, if you'd like."

Stellar's face instantly brightened up, and she rushed towards Natarle and quickly took a seat next to her. She sat a bit too close for Natarle's liking, which prompted her to clumsily edge a fraction away, but Stellar, unaware of her unease, moved closer again. When Natarle tried for a second time, Stellar gave the same reaction, intent on keep the distance between them minimal.

A small laugh was heard—Erica, who was watching their interaction all along, had somehow found this situation amusing. It wasn't intended, but her laugh had lightened up the awkward atmosphere and made Natarle aware that her efforts would only end fruitless. She ceased evading the girl; Stellar, satisfied with the end result, raised her head up to look at Natarle, and for the first time since their earliest encounter, she gave the young woman a warm smile.

o-o-o

Mwu would not have believed what Lewis had just told him, except Lewis would never lie, which meant there was no reason to doubt him. But was he sure he hadn't meant Fllay, instead of Stellar, was in the garden with Natarle?

Well, clearly he was not mistaken, Mwu noted as he approached the garden. There they were enjoying the sunny afternoon, with the young blonde leaning in affectionately to show the older girl the flower tiara she was making.

Erica was the first to notice his presence, and had quickly alerted the two of it. The two girls watched as he approached with one brow raised questioningly. "So, can someone tell me what's going on with you two?"

Natarle was, as he had expected, at a loss for words; the shock on her face he saw when he walked towards them had told him she had never expected she'd have to explain this situation, and her effort in clarifying it for him with jumbled words and incoherent sentences—an awful attempt in trying to justify their acquaintance while concealing the fact that they did not have Muruta's permission—had only proved his suspicions. Stellar, on the other hand, managed to address the same problem with much less fuss and much more elegance: she simply raised a finger and placed it in front of her mouth, and whispered to him, "Shh, Muruta doesn't know. It's a secret. You will keep this secret for Natarle and Stellar, won't you?"

Mwu chuckled, "If I kept this secret for you two, can I also be part of it?"

o-o-o

It was not a good sign.

Or maybe it was a good sign, depending how Muruta wanted to see it.

Frederick requesting—actually no, he did not request; he ordered—Muruta to see him meant it was something important, because both of them knew very well that until the day Frederick had no choice but to hand Dominion Hall over to Muruta, they would make as much effort as they possibly could to avoid seeing each other.

But they all know that the day is nearing; ever since he tripped over his chair in the study and broke his leg, Frederick's health had plummeted. Muruta believes he had accepted this fact already; why else would he tell him to see him before the end of summer when he and Stellar were due to leave?

So here Muruta was, on the last day of his stay, knocking on the door, waiting for his 'high-and-mighty' grandfather to receive him.

There was a bit of shuffling inside, and after a rather long wait the door opened, first coming out of the room was a maid, followed behind by the younger of the Allster girls.

The flame haired girl took a quick glance at him when she passed by, as he did the same to her; in the one fleeting moment they had locked eyes, they managed to see only one thing—their instinctive dislike of each other was mutual.

It's alright, for now. Some things could wait; he would have plenty of time to deal with them when he finally becomes master of Dominion Hall.

From the comfort of his bed Frederick watched as Muruta closed the door behind him and slowly dragged himself towards the bed, purposely making him wait for his presence. Frederick could tell that the arrogance in Muruta's manner was to make clear to him that their positions had switched now; Muruta was the soon-to-be new master of Dominion Hall, while he was only a powerless, miserable old man on his death bed, who before long will lose all the influence he once had in this grand place. But Frederick was not a man who was easily intimidated, and until the moment he dies, he would demand the respect he deserved to be given to him.

"I called you here to tell you what I expect to happen after I die," Frederick said; his voice was weak, but his tone still firm—he would not let his bad health undermine his authority.

"You said it yourself; you'd already be _dead_. What makes you think you can still have a word in what goes on in _my_ house?"

"I said _expect_, not ask, which means you are not given a choice. Don't be so naive to think that simply because you are for certain to inherit this house it means that I will have no control over it. I can have Dominion Hall in ruins before you can lay your filthy fingers on it."

It was a statement Muruta was not prepared for, and the shock of hearing it rendered him speechless; from his reaction, Frederick knew Muruta had unknowingly lost the battle before it was fought. The fool could not even see through his bluff.

"I expect you to provide Fllay shelter here until she has found a suitable beau and is married. She will be presented properly; I expect only the best for her début. I have people to ensure that this happens, and if Fllay does not get what she is entitled to, you will find yourself in a very disagreeable situation. That is all demand from you; anything else will be your decision to make."

"Only Fllay?" Muruta asked after a moment of silence which he used to ingest the conditions imposed onto him. "What about the other girl? Do you mean I can even throw her out if I wanted to?"

At first Frederick only responded with light chuckles, his tone low and his laughter caught in his throat, as if it was an amusement only he would understand. But his laughter grew louder and louder, and in the end he was roaring like he had lost his mind, like a mad man who found hilarity in the normalcy of others.

"You imbecile! How can you not have noticed already? Look at her! Look at her face, her eyes, her hair, everything of her! What of the Allsters' do you see in her? None. None! She is not one of us, you fool, she is not an Allster!"

Clearly Muruta had not known, but Frederick was not going to bother with asking what he would do with this new knowledge; he could dwell on this in his own time, or search for answers if that was what he needed—just not now, and not with the little precious time he has left which he could spend with his dearest grandchild.

"As I said, anything else will be your decision to make, so yes, you may have her out if that is what you want. And that is all I have to say to you, you may leave now."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was winter; the cold and barrenness of the season almost a perfect allegory of the occasion.

How many more times does she have to meet with Death? He visits too often, but never comes for her. It was as if he finds it too enjoyable to take people from within her circumference away that he finds it impossible to stop this addiction. It was as if he had decided she was his plaything, and tormenting her was his newfound hobby. It was as if she was cursed.

It was a painful process, going through Grandfather's death. Not because he was dear to her—he sure was not—but because he was dear to Fllay. Fllay cried so much—much more than for Father's death, and for Mama's as well. She cried for days and nights, she wept and she howled, and her agony became a constant resonance within the walls of the manor. Even deep into the night, Natarle could hear the faint echoes of her cries from down the corridor, fading only when she finally fell asleep, too worn out by her own grief. Yet all Natarle could do was let her be.

How she wished she knew what to do in order to comfort her, but she didn't. Papa, Mama, Father; she was all too familiar with what it feels like—that sudden loss, like something had been snatched away from you before you realise how you cannot do without; that overwhelming regret, to know that there were so many things left unsaid, undone; that intense anger, the feeling of being cheated of something rightfully yours. She knew it all—too well, that she believes she may already be dumb of these feelings. To comfort someone else, though, was another thing. The one person she knew who does this well was Mama, but Mama was far away now. Ever since, the only person left to comfort her was herself.

She had tried to console her sister—she truly had—but it seemed to do only more harm than good. And she figured it was simply better to give up trying when Fllay screamed through her sobs that Natarle would never understand what she was going through, simply because she had never spent any time with Grandpapa. Maybe there was truth in her words, maybe she really did not understand. After all, Fllay was with Grandfather almost every single day; he gave her his complete attention and his utmost devotion—she was his little princess, and that kind of closeness was something Natarle had never experienced.

So there was not much she could do now, except to let time heal Fllay's pain, and make arrangements for the funeral. Every member of the family would be here, which means she must be meticulous to ensure everything was done right.

And after the funeral, Dominion Hall would be all for Muruta's to claim.


	17. The Room with Red Curtains

**The Room with Red Curtains**

How much simpler do mysteries get than this? There was not even much skill involved in deducing the answer; it simply appeared.

It was as if God knew of his 'thievery' and disapproved of it so much that he placed the answer in plain sight, giving him no excuse to not return the misplaced journal that was now in his possession.

'_M.H.' _

'_Miriallia.' _

But he still needs her family name to prove that the journal was hers. He tapped finger lightly on the table in front of him, pretending to be reading the book he had in his other hand as he contemplated what his next step would be. He remembers where he first heard her name—that morning when they were about to depart for the cottage, Mwu had asked Lunamaria to fetch Miriallia to look after Natarle. He also remembers that the one or two times he saw her, she was with Natarle. So very likely, he deduced, that she was Natarle's personal maid.

He looked across the table at his raven haired goddess, who was equally immersed in her own thoughts as she stared outside the open window. Good Lord, she was such a delightful vision when she was deep in her thoughts.

How could he extract more information without raising any suspicions? If he asked Natarle, she would definitely wonder why he needed to know.

She sighed. And she does it with such elegant nostalgia that makes him feel his heart break a little for her, without even knowing the reason behind her gloom; and for _himself_ too, for finding pleasure in seeing her beautiful frown.

Or should he ask Miriallia herself? But would it be rather odd to ask for a family name when he already has a name to call her by?

Where was she looking at anyway? She was always staring outside that window whenever she was in deep thought. Just a force of habit, maybe?

So even if Miriallia's initials were 'M.H.', how could he prove that Miriallia _was_ 'M.H.', the owner of the journal?

Then he imagined, rather fancifully, that if he could ever change her habit and make himself her object of focus, he would make full use of it by pulling her over and kissing her breathless every single time he caught her staring.

And 'M.H.' would be…

…left where it was now, at the very back of his mind.

He got up from his seat and walked around the table, to behind where she was seated. And she was too concentrated on whatever she was looking at that she did not even notice his movements. He leaned in—carefully, quietly—and over her shoulder he looked into the direction she was staring at. He could see parts of the garden from this angle—the gazebo in particular—but most of the view was the West Wing. Viewing this side of the manor from such a close distance, it gave a very different feel to the architecture than from the front view. At a distance, Dominion Hall was dignified and majestic, a castle inviolable by constant changes of the outside world. From here, under the shadows cast by its own arms and legs, with the dark coloured curtains—the navy blues, burgundy reds, myrtle greens—behind the windows and closed as its refusal to let the rooms be touched by light, the West Wing breathed an air of secrecy, the murky colours giving a more sinister character to this end of the castle. He wasn't entirely sure where exactly Natarle's attention was directed towards, but following her stare he made an assumption and landed his aim at one particular room, chosen for its deep scarlet curtains amongst an array of cool coloured ones the other rooms garnished.

"What is there behind those red curtains that make you stare at them every single time you sit here?" He asked in a low whisper just beside her ear.

She jolted with a startled gasp as she looked towards the source of the sound, evidently caught by a surprise.

Their faces were only a breath apart, and she was still a very gorgeous sight from up close—flawless skin with a cherry-coloured blush, soft pink lips like the petals of a fresh rose, and a faint, sweet scent of jasmine—and he was very tempted to kiss her, here and now, if it were not for the deafeningly loud voice in his mind that warned him by doing so he might ruin every probable chance of developing any sort of relationship with her.

She had completely frozen in her place, barely even breathing, and for one moment he thought she had fainted with her eyes still open—if that was possible—except she clearly hadn't, because those eyes of pretty violet were looking straight into his; searchingly, yet absolutely clueless.

He had to stifle a laugh, but he couldn't stop his grin from creeping up his face; to startle her like this was rather fun, and her adorableness was an unexpected bonus that made him much more than glad for having done so. "I'm sorry if I have frightened you," he said, though he was sure he wasn't sorry—not even for the _slightest_ bit. Never mind, she doesn't have to know that. "It's just that you're always staring outside towards the West Wing, as if there's something over there you so desperately want that you can't take your eyes off it. And honestly, it makes me very curious."

Her eyes widened with realisation, evidence that she would never have noticed this herself had he not mentioned it. "There- there's nothing there! I was only… distracted… because of the birds!" She continued rambling explanations that were utterly incomprehensible to Arnold, but he stood still in his place, listening patiently to every single word she spoke as he amused himself with the knowledge of her being such an incompetent liar. Whatever that was there in the West Wing did not matter now, because nothing could compare to what he was enjoying right this moment.

o-o-o

Her face was burning—_still_—as it had been for the entire afternoon, and she doubts it would cease before she climbs into bed and falls asleep tonight.

She looks at him, who was walking a few steps ahead of her as they headed towards the drawing room together, and although all she sees were his hair of midnight blue and the back of his broad shoulders, she feels as if his eyes were still on her, watching closely—_too_ closely—during that moment earlier in the library, when all she could register were that pair of beautiful, bright emeralds of his merely inches away from her, and her own heart's loud, impatient thumps. And then she wonders, maybe if she had left his proximity, when they were both away from each others presence, then this feeling would go away?

But the problem was, she wasn't sure if she _wanted_ to be away from his presence.

Good heavens, this was even more difficult than it was when she first met Mwu; getting used to a character like Mwu was already one of her greatest achievements—and that was with the help of Mama, which now was something she was no longer privileged with. What on earth was she going to do with this man?

Arnold Neumann was in some ways like Mwu, in others completely different. He was a confident and intelligent person, like Mwu; he was kind and thoughtful, like Mwu; and he was quite handsome—she felt her face burn even more and her heart skip a beat at the thought of it, and she cursed herself for having such shameless thoughts—and he always acted gentlemanly, also like Mwu. But the similarities ended there.

Mwu was an outspoken person, his words were always straightforward and frank, and it involved less guesswork; but she likes the way Arnold crafts his words—sophisticated, intelligent, yet never too imposing, and although sometimes his praises catches her unawares—and she knows that he was simply being kind to her—she could not help but feel a little bit indulged. Mwu's voice was always loud and cheery, and could effortlessly brighten up anyone's day with those jolly, carefree laughs; but she prefers Arnold's deep, smooth voice, soft to the ear like black velvet was to the touch, soothing, yet causing butterflies in her stomach every time she hears him speak. Mwu loves being outdoors, and he was always ready for the sun, whether it be a ride around the estate or a walk in the garden, and his radiant glamour was what made him so attractive—or something along that line, from what she had understood during those times she overheard the maids whispering between themselves quietly; but she finds herself appreciating more of the tranquillity that surrounds Arnold, particularly the sense of refinement that stems from his aura of wisdom which makes even silent moments with him pleasant.

Had Stellar asked her once more today—just like when she had asked in private on their second day of arrival—whether she enjoys having their company, she would definitely have a different answer now. She was very grateful to the girl for having insisted that Mwu brought his two best friends with him, because both Arnold and Murrue were good people, and she feels so very fortunate to be in their company.

And this limited time of happiness she has right now, she would cherish every single moment of it, because deep in her heart she knows that it would slip away again before she was ready to let it go.

After all, a person like her does not deserve such happiness.

* * *

**Author's note**

So, I thought now would be a good time to mention this: I'm not a fan of the whole insert-song-at-this-part-of-the-chapter thing, but if I had to pick a theme song for the story, it would be the Japanese singer May'n's song called 'Swan'. If this song was the opening theme and I had to pick an ending theme, it would be May'n's 'Mirror'. Both pieces of music are written by the same person, so the styles of the two songs are very similar, and both fits well with the story mood-wise. Ignore the fact that the songs are sung by a female singer, and you'll see as you read along that the lyrics fit quite well into the perspectives of two separate characters as well (at least I think so). But you won't figure out who, how or why until you get near the end. :P

Do go check those songs out if you have time!


	18. SEVEN

**SEVEN**

There were in the end only a scant number of people who were not family that came for Grandfather's funeral. She would have expected more people to come and pay their respects, given that the Allster name did have quite a bit of influence in earlier days, but knowing how little contact Grandfather had with the outside world in his later life, Natarle was not at all surprised.

Mwu had come too, with his parents, but had only stayed for a few days. As if he already foresaw the trouble that was coming her way, he left her an open offer for any sort of help she may ever need, but she politely refused and resolutely affirmed again than she would never need it. She had made up her mind long ago.

Muruta had moved in straight away with Stellar. Judging by the amount of things they brought with them, they most likely had no plans to return to their parents' house—at least not in the foreseeable future, and possibly not until both of them were dead and he to inherit their house too. And now, with Fllay beside her, sitting across the Azrael siblings in the drawing room, Natarle knew this was the moment when the newly crowned king of the castle would decide her and her sister's fates.

The smirk on his face showed he was thoroughly relishing the moment. "Your _Grandpapa_," he said to Fllay with explicit sarcasm in his tone, "had given specific orders to let you live in this house until you are married off. And so you will. But listen carefully, and bear it in that pathetic little mind of yours, that I will not tolerate you as he did. Don't even so much as to _try_ to be difficult with me; you will pay dearly."

Natarle looked at the girl, and she knew from that unyielding glare how hard this was for her to take: her sister was too used to having everything as she liked, and never even been spoken to in such a disrespectful manner. It didn't matter what Muruta had warned just now; it was simply an unavoidable reality that these two cousins would be constantly fighting for as long as it required that they lived under the same roof.

Fllay swallowed hard. "You only mentioned that Grandpapa made arrangements for me. What about Natarle?"

The grin that crept up the blonde's face sent shivers down Natarle's spine, and at that moment she knew she was in trouble. His voice was so gleeful, as if it was such great news that he almost had to sing it out. "As for your sister, my _sweet_ cousin, our dear Grandfather said I have no obligation to provide her with shelter."

"No," Fllay gasped unbelievingly, then each subsequent cry louder than her last, and with each cry came a deeper realisation of the severity of the situation, "_No_… no, no, no, no, no! You can't do this to us!"

Muruta was beaming of victory, a stark contrast to Stellar who was sitting next to him, her face as pale as the white dress she was wearing. "Muruta?" She tugged onto her brother's coat, but he only put her hand back down onto the sofa and whispered quietly, "Not now, Stellar."

Fllay was furious; she had shot up from her seat, hands held in fists as she screamed, "This is absurd! I will not allow this! She is my sister, you can't separate us! If I get to stay, she stays too!"Muruta made a face and said something that had gotten Fllay even more agitated, and the two started from simple reasoning, to childish squabbles, and then finally to downright insults.

It was a strange feeling for Natarle to sit here, making not a single sound as she watched this scene play out, as though it had not even the slightest thing to do with her. But this _did_ have everything to do with her.

"Fllay, calm down, it's not the end of the world." She held Fllay by her wrist, and pulled her down—Fllay had stubbornly tried to yank her hand free, but her sister's grasp was surprisingly firm—and the girl had no choice but to sit back down in her seat. "Don't you understand what this means, Natarle? We won't be able to be together anymore!"

"I know, Fllay. I know perfectly well what it means," she replied coolly. _'But there's nothing we can do.' _

Even a person as naïve as Stellar could tell Muruta was doing this to flaunt his new-found authority and relish in all its glory. The sole cause of his insistence was his ego for needing to prove that he was, for once in his life, completely in control. And this clearly was something that, even if he was offered the world in exchange for it, he would never give up.

The only problem now was that she would not be able to look after Fllay as she had promised Mama. _Mama_. The memory that came into mind brought along the heavy burdens of guilt as she thought of her inability to keep her word.

"_She needs you,"_ she remembers her Mama's voice saying. _'I know, Mama.'_

"Do you not have anything to say?" Muruta asked mockingly. His eyes were expectant, and she had an eerie feeling that he was waiting for her to beg.

And there was Mama's voice again. _"Take care of Fllay, she needs you."_

Fllay's eyes were filled with angry tears now, her pretty face twisted by such intense rage that looked like she would jump up and strangle Muruta any moment. Natarle did not want to see her dear sister like this; her sweet, lovely sister distorted by fury—fury that stemmed from the want to protect her, and to keep them together, just as they had promised each other years ago.

If begging was what could make Fllay's wish come true, so be it. Her pride—what little left of it—could withstand this humiliation.

"Please, Muruta. You know that Fllay is the only family I have left, as I am hers."

She had been right; the delighted gasp followed by his triumphant sniggers proved that this was exactly what he had wanted, but this alone was not enough to satisfy him. "I'm sorry, I don't understand what you're saying to me."

"Muruta," Stellar said quietly, "you must help them."

But he completely ignored her, his eyes focused only on Natarle as he waited for her to continue.

"Please. Let me stay in Dominion Hall; I ask only this from you."

He leaned back from his seat, bringing his fingers to his chin and stroked lightly. "Hmm, I could, if you're really that desperate, but I honestly can't tell how sincere you are when you say it like this."

Natarle bit her lip as she frowned. How could she be more sincere when there was nothing in the world she could offer that would satisfy him? "_Please_, Muruta."

He let out a dramatic sigh, still taking no notice of his sister's tug on his clothes and her pleading gaze. "Is that all? If this is the case, I will really need some time to think over it." He got up from his seat and started heading towards the door.

"Muruta!" Stellar cried. And this time, she finally had his attention. "If you don't let Natarle stay, Stellar will leave too! We will go to Mwu's! Stellar is sure that Mwu will be happy to let us stay with him!"

"Stellar!" He turned with his eyes wide open. "Do you understand what you are saying?"

"Yes, Stellar knows. And Stellar means it." She got up from her seat and walked towards her brother with all eyes staring at her. "Muruta, how would _you_ feel if Stellar couldn't live with you anymore?"

"I would be deeply saddened, Stellar, and I would do everything I can to let you stay with me, which I _have_ already done," he hissed.

"Then Stellar asks Muruta to do the same for them."

"This is different."

"It is not." She leaned in closer, tugging onto his coat with both hands as she looked up to him, speaking in a quiet voice meant only for him to hear, "Muruta, please don't make Natarle leave, Stellar really likes being with her. _Please_."

He stared still at his little sister, wordless, and she stared back. After a long, heavy moment of silence, he let out a low sounding growl. "Fine."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It wasn't all easy, despite having been granted stay here in Dominion Hall. For starters, she was correct about her sister and Muruta's common fault of lacking the ability to be civil with each other. She could not figure whether it was their intention to start a fight every time they talked, but more often than not they did end up quarrelling, and Stellar and she would have to jump in and pull those two apart to prevent the situation from escalating.

"It's not fair! Grandpapa put the piano in the study so _I_ could play his favourite music for him as he took care of his things. And that man doesn't even use the study! He moved the piano away just to irritate me!"

It was becoming more and more often, now with Grandpapa no longer here, that Fllay would come to her room to stay for the night and vent out her frustrations. It was just like her sleepovers in the past, except nowadays she hardly talked about anything other than Muruta's bullying.

Natarle frowned as she watched Fllay hammer the pillow in her hands as her way of letting out her emotions. "I know it's not easy, Fllay, but you must be very careful that you don't make Muruta too angry. You know fully well what his temper is like, and he might hurt you if you push him too far over the edge."

"But why do I have pay attention to how he feels when he doesn't even care what I feel? I would surely have continued to reason with him if you hadn't insisted that I let him have it his way," she pouted.

"This house _is_ his now, after all. He has every right to do what he wants with it. And you do realise that we are putting Stellar in a difficult position whenever we get Muruta angry, don't you?"

Fllay let go of the pillow and allowed herself to fall backwards onto the bed. "Yes, I know. She's a nice girl; that I have to admit. Unlike that brother of hers."

"Yes she is a nice girl," Natarle smiled, "So please try to make a proper and polite conversation with her tomorrow when she joins for tea. It is not her fault that you and her brother don't get along."

Fllay looked at Natarle. "I will. But just remember, I do it only for you."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"Breakfast is the same every morning, but for the lunch and dinner menus, Mrs. Simmons always leaves them on the desk in the morning room for my approval. That has to be done first thing in the morning after breakfast, because they need time to prepare for the meals."

Stellar nodded, but from the half-confused, half-distracted look on her face, Natarle doubted the girl had taken in all of what she had told her so far. "Just remember as a general rule, if there's anything you're unsure of, run it past Mr. Halberton or Mrs. Simmons, and they will most likely have an answer for you."

"Why is Natarle telling Stellar these things?" Stellar asks with a carelessness in her voice that suggested after completing a tour around the manor with Natarle, she had only just remembered to ask the reason for it. She was not particularly eager to go on this tour to start with, but Fllay had returned to her room after tea—in which she was surprisingly agreeable—and this was the only time today she could have Natarle to herself.

Natarle did not answer her immediately. She pushed open the doors to the small parlour and scanned the room, making sure there was no one else but them two before leading Stellar towards the sofas for a seat.

"Stellar," Natarle sighed softly, "I am telling you these things because these are things you need to know."

The blonde girl tilted her head to the side, still clueless. "Why does Stellar need to know them?"

"Stellar, this house belongs to Muruta now. If he was married, his wife will be the mistress of Dominion Hall, and these things would be for her to take care of. But currently this is not the situation, and that position has been left vacant. Naturally, these responsibilities should fall back onto him, but Mr. Halberton told me he refuses to be bothered with these matters. You, as Muruta's sister, should therefore be the person who runs this house now."

"Why can't Natarle keep on running the house? Stellar thinks Natarle is doing it very well!"

Natarle's lips curved into an appreciative smile, but there was much less amusement in her eyes. "Stellar, I live in this house merely as a guest. I won't be doing this forever."

"But Natarle has done it for Grandfather when he was the master, why can't Natarle do it for Muruta? Or for Stellar? Stellar can't do it… It's too complicated! Stellar doesn't understand any of it!"

"Yes, apparently one aspect they were alike in was their irresponsibility towards the very house they were living in," Natarle muttered under her breath sulkily, but just loud enough for Stellar's ears to catch it, and the girl giggled at this rare moment of seeing Natarle make such a childish face while complaining. She looked at Stellar with a contemplative frown, and after a rather long moment of silence, she let out a defeated but decisive sigh. "I suppose I can continue with what I do now, until you believe you are ready to take over. But you will someday, Stellar, because I won't always be here. Just keep that in mind."

"Thank you, Natarle!" The girl exclaimed most gleefully and clapped her hands together in a celebratory manner. "Thank you so much! Stellar is very grateful for Natarle's help!" She threw herself into Natarle's arms and gave her a strong hug to show her appreciation. Then as if an afterthought, she raised her head up and asked, "Why does Natarle think she won't always be here? Is Natarle going somewhere?"

"Not if I have a choice," she replies hesitantly, "but judging by your brother's dislike of Fllay and me, I fear that one day, when he's finally had enough, he will throw us out no matter how hard you try to defend for us."

Stellar lowered her face, but her arms around Natarle tightened, scared to let go. There was an urge deep inside of her that made Natarle want to comfort the young blonde, just as she always did to her own sister. But she resisted it; it simply was not a good idea for the girl to put too much reliance on someone who did not know when her stay in this house would expire.


	19. 24th November

**24th November**

_It was only Stellar and me at tea today, so I took the chance to ask her something I wanted to know for a long time. I must say I was very brave; after all, he was her dear brother, and to ask about him now was something rather insensitive to do. Particularly after last time when I tactlessly asked to see the cottage. But how else was I going to know about Muruta Azrael, the owner of this mansion I am living in, if no one else is willing to talk about him? Whenever I mention his name, Natarle would become all quiet, and there'd be this sullen look on her face that'd make me feel so guilty for bringing his name up, and I just wouldn't have the heart to press on the matter anymore. So far all I know about are just the few incidents between him, Natarle and Fllay immediately before he was gone. Judging by that information alone, of course it is natural that I don't like him. But as a person—his character, likes and dislikes, and all those things—I know nothing of, and I must admit I am very curious._

_I was careful when I asked, and made sure I was not to upset Stellar with my questions. And thankfully, she seemed much more at ease with the mention of her brother than she was last time._

_Stellar did first warn me that whatever she said may be very biased; after all, he was her closest family and practically the person who brought her up, which meant no matter right or wrong he was or the things he did were, she would never judge him. _

_Like most of those belonging to this place, she has her own story; it is not a happy one, but she says she's already had it easy compared to the others—at least she never had to suffer the cruelty brought upon by the hands of her own brother. _

_When with her, Muruta would give her all the patience and kindness she needed to fill the hole in her heart their own parents ploughed, but to everyone else, he was the harshest person ever, always spiteful and violent, arrogant, selfish, unreasonable and unfeeling—it was like the world was his enemy. And all was because of the tragedy years ago that took young Elysse's life._

_Katherine hadn't meant for it to happen—of course not; as much as she was jealous of her younger sister's position as the favourite child, she wouldn't have even dreamt of doing her harm—but Frederick never forgave her for Elysse's death. She was, after all, the one who convinced the girl to climb the tree for those big, luscious apples. One wrong step into the air and she slipped, fell onto the ground like a lifeless rag doll. _

_From that day onwards, Katherine was shut out of her own father's life. No matter what she did she couldn't win back her father's favour, but she never gave up; if she could achieve something exceptional in her life, her father would certainly be proud of her, and would most certainly forgive her, would he not? In spite of everything, she was still his daughter; how could he stay mad at her for the rest of his life? _

_And so she did: made a name for herself amongst the high society, went off to marry a rich and powerful man she did not love, and gave birth to an heir for her husband. Yet none of this was enough to turn her father's head around. Time after time she was disappointed, and time after time she persevered in her quest; in the end, exhausted by the rejection and blinded by her defeat, she decided what she couldn't achieve, she would have her son do so in her place. She would have him raised as the most influential and talented man, to be the persona of perfection that her father could not overlook. Then, he would no longer deny her the attention she craved. _

_Muruta was only a small child, but the pressure put onto those tiny shoulders was already enough to crush him. All he learnt in the end was hatred—towards his mother, the person who forced into him achieving dreams that were not his own; towards his grandfather, the source of all his torment; towards his father, who saw his complaints as only trouble and weakness. His life was crowded with people, yet he never felt more alone. _

_He was envious of Stellar, yet pitied her at the same time. While Katherine focused all of her attention onto him, the girl was often ignored. The servants, of course, did their part to take care of her, but that was all that was given to her. She had too much freedom while he had none; she became a wild child while he stayed a prisoner. They were two ends of a see-saw that could never find its balance._

_At first he only spent time with Stellar to spite his mother, to accentuate her inadequacy as a parent. But the child was to him a new adventure; her unpredictability brought him great thrill every time, something he could rarely experience in his orchestrated life. Stellar, on the contrary, saw him much more than entertainment. He was her guide, her parent and teacher—he was the substitute the little duckling needed when she hatched from her shell and her mother wasn't there waiting for her. She became his responsibility; he taught her how to read and write, brought her out to see the world, and protected her from their father's rage and mother's apathy. When the chance came, he took her with him to escape to Dominion Hall, away from the parents they would rather do without. _

_It wasn't easy though, living in a house full of strangers; even those prior experiences he had spending just the summer there was already much of a torment. Their two new cousins and Aunt Elizabeth, to start with, he found difficult to get along with; anyone, in fact, was difficult for him to get along with. He could be the most charming person if he needed—those lessons from his mother weren't wasted—but he would only do so when he feels like putting on the act, and he certainly did not feel like putting his charm to use on people he despised. Then there was their grandfather; the heritance was going to his least favourite grandchild after his death and there was nothing he could do to change that—of course he wasn't going to welcome him with a wide smile and open arms. _

_Muruta needed a place to vent all that frustration and anger, but most certainly not in front of Stellar—her naivety towards the harshness of the real world was the one thing he treasured more than she did. He would sometimes vent it out on whatever that was at hand; vandalizing the expensive and tasteful furniture, smashing the crockery onto those beautifully furbished walls, ruining his brand new suits, and even lashing out on his cousins or the servants. But it wasn't enough; the pain he caused only took away a fraction of the pain he was feeling; there was so much more agony inside of him that he hadn't let out, and it was eating him alive. In the end he chose to run, and he would disappear for some time, and only come back when he was in a better mood. Until one day, he found the cottage._

_The cottage was part of the estate, but from its deserted outlook, clearly no one found it of any use. Yet for him, it was the perfect place; there was solitude, and there was liquor. It became his hideout, somewhere to stay when he wanted to be away from Dominion Hall. He would occasionally still run off somewhere far away that even Stellar wouldn't be able find him, but more often he would be in the cottage, letting himself drown in his poison and his cure, spending days—or even weeks—in a blissfully drunken state._

_But something started to change a few months after he became the master of Dominion Hall—about half a year before his disappearance. The core of his being didn't change, Stellar asserted; he was still the angry person he used to be, and his bad relationship with everyone else in the estate persisted, except for one person—Natarle. It wasn't that they suddenly became affectionate towards each other; the foundation of their ill relationship was still as solid as it ever was, but there was something more between them, something that even Stellar had never expected—something, that by the time Stellar realised what it was, it was too late for anything to be done to help either of them: for the first time in Muruta's life, he found emotional dependence—a dependence that only brought about disaster._

_He continued to be rude and difficult towards her, just as he was since the first day they met—at least when they were in the presence of others—yet at the same time he stopped treating her as inferior to him. On occasions when she had enough of his unreasonableness and fought back—particularly at times when it involved Fllay—he would quietly back off and pretend that the row between them did not happen. Sometimes, when she came around during a fight between Fllay and him, he would even be the one to bring truce, and he would do it so obviously as if to show her his effort and earn her approval._

_Stellar says she knows what made him change; she had never been able to have him confirm her thoughts, but she supposes her guess is not too far from the truth, given she knows what had happened between the two in the end. In hindsight, the reason he found consolation in his relationship with her, she believed, was because Natarle was the only person who understood what true loneliness meant. Loneliness, stripped to its barest form—the fear, the uncertainty, the helplessness and the frustration—she understood all that. She understood his weaknesses. That was why he needed her._

_And that was what made things so complicated. _


	20. Clouding Skies

**Clouding Skies**

She was rather restless today, even when all she was doing was sitting in her custom seat here in the library; it was like having her person here, but her heart and mind somewhere else. She seemed to be in a constant rush with everything she was doing, yet the rush led her nowhere, and she was still doing the same things, at the same pace, as she did every day.

He reached over the table and touched her hand—lightly, yet steadily, as he did not want her to shirk away but was afraid he would startle her. She looked up at him with a bit of astonishment in her otherwise dazed stare.

"Natarle, are you alright?"

Her lips parted in a questioning manner, and then finally realising how distracted she had been, she sat up in alertness. "Y-yes! Yes I'm alright. Thank you… for asking."

She smiled, but it wasn't convincing enough for Arnold to believe her. "You must let me know if you're feeling unwell," he said, but she dismissed his worries by swinging her head sideways most fervently, all the while insisting she was fine. She turned back to her book and pretended to be concentrating on it, unaware that his eyes were still on her. They stayed like that for a while—she pretending, he watching—until a soft knock at the door was heard.

It was Miriallia who appeared behind the door. She went straight to Natarle, and with her consenting nod the young maid bent down and whispered something into her ear. Natarle's violet eyes widened, and she shot up from her seat abruptly. "Is it true?" She asked the young maid with repressed urgency in her voice.

"Yes, Miss Natarle. I'm very sure of it. I saw it with my own eyes."

The expression on her face was one Arnold's never seen before—relief, disbelief, joyous, yet nervous—as if the news was something she had been wishing for for a very long time, but had never expected it to come true. What in the world would it be that could stir such emotions in her? What was it had she been so earnestly hoping for? In a flash—it was not deliberate, but the memory just forced its way into his mind most decisively—he remembered that day he saw her on the top of the stairs, glancing down at him with those sorrowful eyes.

Muruta Azrael?

"Please excuse me, Arnold, as there is something very important that I must attend to now." She got up and left, not looking back for even once.

He supposed that what it was that had been bothering her the whole morning and what had got her immediate attention just now were connected, and he so desperately wanted to understand the whole ordeal. _Especially_ if it really was related to Muruta Azrael. He turned to Miriallia who was just about to leave. "Miri, what is the matter?"

Whatever it was, it affected the brunette as well, maybe not as much as it did to Natarle, but there was a similarly incomprehensible look on Miriallia's face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Neumann, but I'm not at the liberty to tell you." So cautious they all were, the people living in this house. Why?

Is this the secret that Dominion Hall hides?

It was so frustrating; there were too many things he did not understand, yet there was no one he could ask to get his answers. He doesn't even know what the secret it about—was it a 'who', 'what', 'where', or 'why'? And even the journal he had—the only clue he could work on—now needed to be returned.

Hold on; the journal. And the handkerchief.

He pulled out the handkerchief from his pocket; he had kept it with him so he could return it when he had the chance to see Miriallia again, and now was the right moment. "I found this the other day when we met in the corridor, and I believe it's yours?"

Miriallia gasped delightedly, "Yes, Mr. Neumann, I've been looking everywhere for it. Thank you!"

"I thought I might be Luna's, but it says 'M.H.', so I thought it made more sense to check with you first. 'M' for Miriallia; what does 'H' stand for?"

"Haww, Sir. My family name is Haww."

It fitted perfectly, but out of his unwillingness to return the journal, Arnold refused to believe that Miriallia was the owner without more concrete proof. He needed to think of something quick; something that he could use as an excuse to ask for more information without sounding out of line; something that, even if Miriallia really was the owner of the journal, she would not suspect he had the item when they talked about it.

Something like… kinship.

"So, what exactly is your role in this house? I don't see you around very often, but Luna seems to look up to you quite a bit."

"I'm Miss Natarle's personal maid, Sir, which I suppose is why they often come to me for advice, as I am the closest to Miss Natarle amongst the staff."

"You seem to take care of the younger ones quite well. I assume you are the eldest in your family?"

She giggled. "No Sir, I'm an only child."

Only child, did she say? The authoress mentioned that she has a sister, which meant—to Arnold's joy—that Miriallia was not the owner of the journal. He tried his best to hide his satisfaction in knowing that the journal was for him to keep now—at least until he finds a new clue regarding its ownership. "I thought you must have a younger sibling, seeing how well you get along with the younger staff," he said in a level tone, mindful that he would not raise any suspicions by asking such random questions. "The way you talked to Luna sounded a lot like sibling banter, and it reminds me of my own sisters."

"Well we are very close, Sir, as I've known Luna for quite a few years now. She would be the closest I could ever have to a sister." She paused for a short moment, and curiously when she spoke again, there was a newfound gravity in her voice. "But I suppose when one has lived in this house for long enough, one would gradually come to understand how strong the bonds between siblings can be…"

"_Indestructible, yet destructive."_

He swung his head around in surprise of the words he heard, but Miriallia was looking at him with a serene and unsuspecting smile on her face, and Arnold was no longer certain whether those words he heard were her whispers or his imagination.

"If that is all, Sir, I shall be going." She bowed lightly, and left the room.

Remaining behind was that soft murmur, repeating endlessly inside his mind, still awaiting his decision on what those words meant.

o-o-o

Whatever it was that was monopolizing Natarle's attention for the better half of the day seemed to be completely unrelated to Muruta Azrael after all.

It was time for tea, but Natarle still had not returned to the library. Arnold had wanted to wait for her, but when Lunamaria had come up to fetch him for it was late and he was still not in attendance, she had told him that Natarle would still need a while before she has time for anything else. Disappointed, Arnold followed Lunamaria down to the garden to join for the afternoon tea. When he arrived, the first person he noticed was Stellar, looking lively and cheerful as she danced under the sun. Having seen how easily she could be affected by merely a dream of her brother, it was either she had not yet heard of the news—which was highly unlikely, given that the person in question was _her_ brother—or it was not something that troubled her.

"It's such a glorious day! Stellar thinks we should celebrate!" She sang her words as she pranced towards Arnold, taking his hands into hers and leading him back to where Mwu and Murrue sat.

"What is it that's worth celebrating, may I ask?" Arnold queried as he sat.

The blonde girl tilted her head sideways and hummed exaggeratedly, "Because it is such a beautiful day!"

"The weather is very nice today, that I have to agree," he chuckled, "but hadn't it been like this for quite a few days already?"

"Stellar thinks the sun is particularly bright today!"

Mwu and Murrue laughed at Stellar's insistence and Arnold's inability to disapprove of the girl's cheeriness. "I suppose the sun does shine brighter when Stellar's in a good mood," Mwu said, shooting Stellar a wink to show his agreement, which Stellar beamed in return. She hugged the man from behind, rubbing her cheek against his, and he held onto her arms laughing, sharing this joy that seemed only they understood.

If there was a veiled connotation in Stellars' optimism or Mwu's words, Arnold was certain he would not be able to figure out what it was. Even Murrue beside him seemed to look a little puzzled at the cousins' merriment. "Please don't ask me why they seem so happy today," she said before Arnold had a chance to ask; she had most likely guessed by the perplexity on his face. "I have no clue what has happened, and I promise I hadn't done or said anything out of the ordinary either."

They sat a while in silence as Erica served the tea, and finally Arnold realised why it seemed to him that it was quieter than usual during this time of the day. "Where's Fllay?" he asked.

"Mrs. Simmons mentioned that she's with Natarle, but didn't say exactly where," Murrue replied.

Arnold huffed. "Oh, I see. It makes sense now; Miri came to the library for Natarle earlier this afternoon, and she left in a flash."

"Oh? What was the matter?"

"I don't know, she didn't tell me. I'm a bit worried though; she didn't seem quite like herself today."

"Hmm…" Murrue made a noise that sounded like a tease, a contrast to the concern in Arnold's voice. "Our dear Arnie is worried. Natarle is one _very_ lucky creature."

Arnold raised a suspicious eyebrow, and Murrue knew he was now very aware where this conversation was heading—particularly when she had deliberately used the pet name he despised hearing.

Murrue giggled. While anyone else may think he was the perfect gentleman, she and Mwu knew better; Arnold does not care about people or things that he deems unworthy of his attention, and unfortunately his list of worthy ones was rather short. Thankfully, they would sometimes think, that they were on the list. She stood her arm onto the stone table and supported her chin with the back of her hand, leaning in purposefully to show her interest. "Do you fancy her?"

When Arnold replied her with nothing other than a threatening glare, and that she noticed the tips of his ears were tinted red—an occurrence so rare that she could count with one hand how many times she had seen it—she understood it was not as simple as she had initially guessed. She let out a soft, enlightened gasp. "You're in love with her."

"Don't share your thoughts with anyone, please," he asked in a low voice. He knew better than to deny it, because Murrue was especially astute when it came to such delicate matters. "Particularly her. She is still clueless, and I don't want to alarm her."

To Arnold's annoyance Murrue smiled most radiantly, somewhat like a proud mother would to her child.

"You two seem you be having a great time!" A sweet voice chimed. They turned around and saw Fllay smiling down at them, and behind her, Natarle. She seemed much less on edge as she was earlier in the day, but more tired; in contrary to her usual upright posture and firm stare, her shoulders were slumped and her gaze hesitant, as if she had been drained of all her energy. It was a very sorry sight for Arnold to see her looking so weary, and he wanted to speak with her, but to his dismay she hadn't once looked at him, and had instead let her attention fall towards Murrue's direction in the form of a troubled frown—for a brief second, he thought he saw disappointment hidden within.

"Natarle, Fllay, you're here!" Stellar piped, finally aware of the sisters' arrival. "Oh dear, Natarle looks exhausted."

"Stellar's right, Natarle, you look a bit pale. How are you feeling?" Murrue asked.

"I'm fine."

"Come over and sit down for a while."

"No thank you. I'll be alright."

But Fllay had ignored her sister and pulled her towards the space between Arnold and Mwu. "They are right, Natarle. Just sit for a while; it'll do you good," she said as she forced her to sit down next to Arnold while herself sat next to Mwu. Arnold could not help but thank Fllay in his mind for her attentiveness.

"You hadn't been well since this morning," he reminded Natarle softly.

"I'm fine, truly. It's just… that there are some things Fllay and I must take care of."

"Whatever it is, please don't give yourself too much of a hard time over it. Just remember, anything I can do for you, you will only need to say the word."

She looked at him, then awkwardly away again. And it was the first time this day that Arnold saw a colour of red rise in those pallid cheeks of hers.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Murrue simply adored afternoons like this, with the sun shining bright and the winds breezing gently, because it was a great pleasure to spend time in the garden with such gorgeous weather. Not to mention the company she had was quite enjoyable too.

There were times when she thought Mwu was a rather silly person—like now, because he was trying to make a flower tiara as his present for her, a little craft that Stellar had taught him a few days ago when they last had tea here in the garden—but even so he was still the most endearing person.

He was right about how magnificent a place Dominion Hall was—the grandeur of the architecture's interior, and the charm of its outdoor scenery—everything was as he had promised when he invited Arnold and her to join him for the summer. Everything as promised, except himself.

He was a different person here. He laughed less, and when they were with the cousins, he was always trying too hard to maintain the harmony that was so effortlessly present when he was with Arnold and her. She could tell he didn't usually act like this around his cousins either. He was simply trying to find a balance—the sweet spot where Arnold and she would be most comfortable when with them. But what he did not know was that they _were_ already perfectly comfortable with the girls, as much as each of their unique eccentricities baffled her sometimes—what harm did he think those three sweet, innocent darlings would do to them?

She hadn't discussed this with Arnold, for she feared he would think of her as being irrational or insecure because she was spending time with Mwu's relatives. To be the subject of Arnold's ridicule was not something she enjoyed—though she wondered, after discovering that day whom his heart now yearns for, whether she could successfully leverage this knowledge to turn the tables on him for once. But even if she tried and failed, she could always count on Mwu to help her out of any difficult situations she would face.

Sometimes, she mused, he was so thoughtful and charming that made her feel too privileged to have his companionship.

"Alright, I suppose this is the best I can do," he said dejectedly as he handed her his handicraft.

"Oh Mwu, what have you done to the poor flowers?" Murrue tried to sound serious, but a giggle escaped her when she took the mutilated circlet of flowers into her hands. "Though it's the thought that counts. Thank you, Mwu."

He beamed in the most childlike manner, and just like magic, Murrue felt her heart flutter as if his glee had touched her spirits too.

Perhaps they were too engrossed into the comfort of each other's company that they had not noticed Lewis approaching hastily until he stood only a few steps away from them, keeping a courteous distance.

"Sir, I apologise for the intrusion, but this is quite urgent." There was a rare hint of irritation in Lewis's voice.

"What is, Lewis?"

"I'm afraid we have an unexpected visitor, Sir," he paused with hesitation. Although Murrue didn't know him well, she was familiar with him enough to know that he was not one to hesitate when it came to his duties. He spoke again, but slower than before, as though he dreaded hearing the words come from his own mouth. "It is Miss Fenn. She has just arrived, and she has brought quite some luggage with her."

"Miss Fenn? Who-" Mwu sounded surprised, and then horrified. "Oh my Lord, you don't mean-"

There was shock in Mwu's eyes along with a hint of exasperation, and Murrue finally understood that this was quite a worrying situation. "Mwu, why do you look so upset? Who's Miss Fenn?"

It was Lewis who answered her after a period of awkward silence, because it seemed that Mwu was yet to recover from his disbelief. "Miss Murrue, it's Miss Adelaide Fenn, Mr. Muruta's fiancée."

* * *

**Author's note**

Sorry that I took so long for this update; there's just too much stuff to do!


	21. EIGHT

**EIGHT**

Stellar did not approve of this person her brother was going to marry, but it was something decided by their parents, so she knew better than to voice her opinion. What she could not understand was why Muruta, being the rebellious child he was, not break off the engagement once he became the master of his own life?

"Father arranged for this because he wants to acquire the Fenn's connections, which is extensive, even by his standards. Why should I put myself at odds with such a favourable condition? Even if I do marry Adelaide, I can still deny that man what he wants." This was his justification for keeping Adelaide as his fiancée, and the reason why he agreed to let her visit Dominion Hall.

Truth be told, Stellar was very impressed by the first sight of her. The woman had long, wavy hair of a dark auburn colour which brought out perfectly the brightness of her blue eyes. Her fair skin shined a healthy glow, and she knew how to dress to accentuate her curvaceous figure. She was inarguably an attractive woman, the type that could have men falling for her by a simple glance. But if looks counted for nothing, then she had nothing.

She was—discounting her other smaller vices—selfish, arrogant, superficial, and narcissistic. She talked too much, and always on dull topics, things that interested her and nobody else—things like how she liked her tea, what she was going to wear for dinner, and the 'improvements' she was going to make to Dominion Hall once she gets married with Muruta. In a pitiable sense, she was the perfect match for Muruta. But Stellar was not sure Muruta loved her as much as she loved him.

He treated her well enough—they would make normal conversations, exchange gifts on special occasions, and he would arrange activities suitable for themselves as a pair. Considering how uncivil he was to his own cousins, Adelaide should consider herself incredibly lucky. But even so, Stellar could see that he was not at all in love with her, because he was not at all passionate about anything between them; to have no passion for the person he was to spend the rest of his life with, that, Stellar thought, was something very sad.

But Stellar does not feel much sympathy for Adelaide, because she does not even like her for the slightest bit. The woman knew how Muruta doted on her, and therefore she had taken up the tactic of trying to win Stellar's affection too; she also knew how Muruta despised the Allster girls, and therefore she made it her business to give them a miserable time as well.

Like yesterday, she had insisted to have Miriallia serve her for the rest of her stay, as she needed to get used to being the mistress of the house, while Natarle needed to get used to _not_ being in charge. Muruta, oblivious to the workings of the house and tired of Adelaide's pestering, was on the verge of agreeing until Stellar reasoned with him that the house would be left in a dysfunctional state if run by the hands of a person who hardly remembered the way back to her room. Adelaide then eyed for Lunamaria, claiming that it was only befitting for the soon-to-be Mrs. Azrael to have a personal maid in her future home.

As the head housemaid, Lunamaria had plenty of other responsibilities in the house other than serving Fllay, but it was common knowledge how close Lunamaria was to Fllay, and anyone with clear thinking would understand that Adelaide had chosen her not with the intention to convenient herself, but to slight Fllay's standing.

The fight that the two had gotten into was an ugly sight. To be fair, the fault was not Fllay's; the comments Adelaide made were too harsh, every single blow a determination to humiliate the girl further. Stellar thought maybe it was because her first few attempts to put down Natarle had failed—Natarle was too composed and sensible a person to fall for that kind of childish trick—and the obstinate Adelaide therefore decided she needed to be more aggressive towards Fllay, who unbeknownst to her, was also the more irritable sister between the two. Thankfully Natarle had pulled Fllay away from the scene before the argument got out of hand. Thankfully, too, that Adelaide knew she had gone overboard, and afraid she would leave a bad impression with Muruta, she retracted her request. And that was only one of the many fights they already had, and with plenty more to come.

Stellar remembered, on the day when Natarle explained to her the workings of this house, that when Muruta finally marries, his wife will take over her place to run Dominion Hall. Seeing what kind of person Adelaide was, Stellar knew only one thing was for sure—it was going to be a nightmare.

o-o-o

Erica frowned. She did not like having to go to Natarle for everything little thing, because their mistress trusted that they knew how to do their duties well, and Erica too believed that the staff were in fact capable enough of a team not to disappoint her. But Adelaide was, after all, very likely to be the person running this house someday, which it was not a good idea to ignore her requests, however unreasonable and impractical, without at least getting approval from Natarle first.

Erica truly hated having to put this extra pressure onto Natarle, especially with the rising tension within the house due to Fllay's constant quarrels with Muruta and Adelaide. Though Natarle seemed to be handling this pressure better than Erica had expected—she was stressed, yes, and her increasing grouchiness was enough proof for it, but even so she had never once scolded a staff without enough reason to back it up—still, Erica was worried how much longer she could hold up.

"Miss Natarle," she said to her as she watched her go through the amendments Adelaide had made to the dinner menu, "You should take some rest."

"I'm fine, Mrs. Simmons." She let a moment of silent pass while she finished reading the sheet of paper, and then handed it to Erica, "You can change the menu as she likes it; I have no objection. As for her request to rearrange the furniture in the small parlour, please pay no attention to that. She's only here for three weeks, and yes she can use the room as her study if she truly has the need for it, but I don't see the need to make the changes she has asked for. If she has any issue with that, tell her to come to me personally."

"Yes, Miss Natarle. Thank you for taking this up for us, the staff really appreciates it; the orders Miss Adelaide make does get them quite confused sometimes."

Natarle sighed. "Try to accommodate to those demands you see reasonable, Mrs. Simmons. If she ever gives you trouble, you can always come to me. I don't want the staff wasting effort in satisfying every single demand she makes, because in my opinion, most of them are rather senseless. But for the work the staff normally does, please make extra effort to ensure that every piece is done to perfection. I'm sure they already do, and I truly appreciate the efforts they make, particularly yours and Mr. Halberton's in running the house, but it seems to me that Miss Fenn has rather… high _standards_, and I'd hate to see her criticizing your hard work."

Erica grimaced at Natarle's lenient use of the term 'high standards'; she knows it was only because Natarle did not want the staff to fall into disrespect for Adelaide, as it would be themselves who suffered in the end if they got on the wrong side of her. That was very thoughtful of her, but probably a little too late; Adelaide had already made a name for herself amongst the staff, and the reputation she had established was not going to be changed easily.

Natarle must have sensed Erica's unease; she forced a smile and said, "The clever thing to do is to keep her content enough so she doesn't make any complaints to Muruta. I can only say this much, Mrs. Simmons. Once it gets to him, it is out of my hands."

"I understand, Miss Natarle." Erica sighed. They wouldn't want that now, would they?

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The real calamity came after Adelaide had left.

Muruta was furious. It had nothing to do with the quarrels Fllay had with him—those were too frequent for him to take notice of anymore—but it was the quarrels she had with Adelaide. He wasn't angry because he thought Fllay had offended his fiancée; he was angry because she was rude to a guest of Dominion Hall, the house he was master of.

Natarle had never seen him so enraged. It took him only minutes to go from throwing insults to throwing actual things; everything within his reach was hurled at Fllay with deadly accuracy—even with Stellar holding Muruta back on one end and Natarle pulling Fllay away from harm on the other.

"You ungrateful brat! How could you humiliate me like that? Without me you are nothing! You won't even have a place to live!"

"You've never done anything for me! I live in this house because Grandpapa made arrangements for me, and it has nothing to do with you!"

"Nothing? Do you not realise how indebted to me you are? You-!"

Natarle hadn't seen him come up to them; he was too fast, and she was too focused on Fllay. She had only caught sight of him when she noticed in the corner of her eye the movement of him raising his arm. Instinctively she knew what his next move was.

He swung his hand downwards, and thankfully she had reacted in time. She had not been able to catch hold of his hand, only managing to block off his assault with the back of her own hand, and her wrist immediately went numb by its impact. It must have hurt, but she hadn't registered the pain; all she could think of in that precise moment was he had taken it too far. When they both lowered their sore hands, she saw that his face was even redder from fury, his usually cool blue eyes glaring like they were on fire.

"What do _you_ want now?" he yelled at her.

"Don't shout at Na-" Fllay wanted to retaliate, but Natarle had quickly shushed her and pushed her behind herself.

"_Do not_ try to hurt my sister." Her voice was coarse and frosty, a tone none of them had never heard before; her eyes were sharp and cruel, a sight they had never seen before; and her posture was still yet tense, like a feline ready to prance at its enemy.

Muruta was taken aback for a split moment, startled by this resoluteness in her that he had never expected. When he finally regained his composure, the explosiveness in his rage had already died down into quiet flames. "May I remind you," he hissed, "that _you_ are here too only because of my kindness."

"My position in this house has no relation to how you should—or should not, for that matter—treat Fllay."

He narrowed his eyes; he had never imagined she could stand unmoved by his deliberate patronization. "Do you know I can make your life miserable if I wanted to?"

"And?" she replied. He had wanted to read it as a question, to pretend that she was afraid and he still had the upper hand, but there was a note of finality in that single word she spoke; as though she was fearless, fully prepared for anything he may throw her way; as though whatever evil plans he had in his mind would never be enough to intimidate her.

Muruta knew the battle was lost—for now. Only for now. There were too many ways he could take his revenge, each and every one of them pleasurable enough for him in merely envisaging how it would turn out.

He held her chin up and pulled her face close to his own, letting himself a good look at those stubborn amethyst eyes. He simply could not wait to see the day these eyes would be filled with tears, begging him for mercy. "If that's how you'd like it, Natarle, be my guest."


	22. An Uninvited Guest

**An Uninvited Guest**

To Murrue's surprise, the first person Mwu had thought of when hearing the name of Muruta's fiancée was not Stellar, but Natarle. "Have you told Natarle yet?" He asked Lewis with a sense of urgency.

"No Sir, I haven't."

"Good, that's good." Mwu stood up, paced a few steps forward and two back, visibly still lost in thought. "I, uh… I'll tell her myself."

"Yes, Sir."

"Where is Adelaide?"

"In the drawing room, Sir. I've asked her to wait there."

"Good. Keep her there. Don't let her run around on her own. You know what she's like."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good… good. I will go to see Natarle now. She's in the library, I assume? Murrue, go find Stellar and Fllay, and stay with them in the small parlour until I send someone for you. You all will need to meet Adelaide properly, because clearly she plans on staying here for some time. But not now. Not before I tell Natarle about this. Good grief, that woman is such a nuisance! And such terrible timing too! Right, I need to move now. You too, Murrue; I'll see you in a bit."

Murrue had never seen him so frantic before. For one, he was not the kind of person who would verbalize his thought processes; he was more of the kind to act on his half thought-out plans and make the rest up as he went along. To have the power to throw Dominion Hall into chaos simply by making an unannounced visit, what kind of person was this Adelaide Fenn?

o-o-o

Arnold believed he should be thankful that Natarle was at least still showed up at the library. She would sometimes be late, other times even much later—that it was almost time for tea already when she came to the library, and she could only sit for a while. And he wondered was it for him, or was it for the books, that she still made the effort, despite looking so utterly worn out when she finally arrived?

Every day, she seemed more exhausted than the last. She no longer looked outside her windowpane; she simply sat, too tired to give her attention to anything—or anyone—else. Even had he stared at her with all the intensity of his adoration for the whole afternoon, she would not have noticed.

So neither had she noticed—though he did—the small click of the library door opening hesitantly. It was Mwu, making a rare appearance in this part of the house where none of his interests lie. Every step he took was heavy and slow, like it was a mine field he was walking through. "Hello, Mwu," Arnold greeted, at the same time alerting Natarle of her cousin's appearance.

"Hello, Arnold," he said as he neared, "Natarle, we have, um… a guest."

"A guest?" Obviously it was something she hadn't foreseen.

"Yes." Mwu stopped, and there was an awkward silence left in the place where he was supposed to detail. Either he assumed Natarle would be able to guess who it was, or he did not want to say it out loud. But Natarle had stared at him with pure obliviousness and made no attempt to guess, and his only option was to continue. "Adelaide's here. She brought her things. She plans on staying."

She shot up from her seat. There was first disbelief, then anxiety, and then irritation, and lastly rage—a chain of emotions that ended with a furious growl of "How more ill-mannered can this woman be?"

"I know, Natarle."

"To drop by at someone else's home unannounced! To come with her belongings, as if she was entitled to our hospitality! She's _only_ Muruta's fiancée, not wife—yet! Dominion Hall is not her home!"

Mwu spoke no more, letting Natarle ramble on with her complaints. At least she still knew how to let her emotions out. When she had finally finished with her outburst, huffing and puffing from the weariness resulted by her own anger, Mwu decided it was the right moment. He took a step towards her and rested his hand on the back of her arm, rubbing it gently the way one would when comforting a child. "I know it's frustrating, Natarle, but we don't have a choice now. I've asked Murrue to stay with Stellar and Fllay in the small parlour, so you need not worry about them, but we do have to deal with Adelaide now. It'll be alright, I promise. I'm here with you."

Reluctantly, obediently, she bit her lips and nodded, succumbing to her misfortune.

Seeing that her anger had subsided, Mwu gave Natarle a light, supportive pat on her shoulder, and then turned to Arnold. "I'm sorry, Arnold," he said, "We have to go now and meet this guest we have."

"I can come with you," Arnold offered.

"Uh, I'm not sure…" Mwu's voice trailed, and he looked towards Natarle for her opinion. She gave none; judging from her blank face she was probably still weighing in her mind the reasons for and against him to come along, but Arnold seized the moment of silence and took it as a yes. "Shall we?" He asked.

Mwu shrugged, and seeing that Natarle was not going to object, he led the way. Arnold followed a few steps behind, his pace set a bit slower to adjust to Natarle's; every step she took was heavy and stiff, like footsteps of a soldier marching into the battlefield, but much less urgent, and much less resolute. This Adelaide, whoever she was, must be an enemy Natarle does not want to face.

Truth be told, Adelaide was the only reason Arnold had asked to tag along. Had he not known the effects this woman's presence could bring, he would have been content to do so if Mwu had asked him to stay with Murrue and the two girls. But no; with her appearance alone she had sent the usually cool and poised Natarle into a fiery rage, and filled Mwu's confident and carefree face with worry. She must be quite a character, Arnold decided; not one that he most likely would get along with, but if she was someone who had Natarle's utter dislike, he would never allow himself to stand back while Natarle went out and faced her.

When they had arrived at the drawing room, Lewis was already waiting by the door. He bowed lightly at them, and showed them inside where the guest sat waiting.

She was a beautiful woman, Arnold acknowledged; she had an air of glamorous beauty—rather like Murrue, particularly with her dark brown, wavy hair—the kind of beauty that matched well with red and gold. But underneath that glamour there was sniff of menace; her blue eyes had a predatory gleam, and the way her lips curled when she smiled reminded Arnold of hyenas. No, he decided, he did not like her.

"Hello, Mwu, and Natarle. It's nice to see you again," she greeted in a pretentiously sweet voice. "And this is?"

"This is Arnold Neumann," Mwu answered stiffly. "He's a friend of mine."

Arnold gave his most polite smile; of the many talents he had, his ability to pretend was one of those that made him most proud. "Hello Miss Fenn. Nice to meet you."

"Hm-hmm," she hummed melodiously, indicating her interest in this new person. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Neumann."

"What brings you here, Adelaide?" Natarle cut in, her tone impatient.

The brunette grinned, and deliberately let her sight linger on Arnold for a moment longer, pretending that she hadn't heard Natarle. But Arnold had sensed her little ploy and quickly broke eye contact, looking towards Natarle as to indicate to Adelaide where she should pay her attention to.

Adelaide took the hint, and she let out a small snigger. She turned to Natarle. "Why of course, darling, it's about Muruta. I came to check if there's been any news of him."

Natarle narrowed her eyes. "We told you we would be in touch once we have new information. You didn't have to come."

"Yes, but I wanted to make sure there isn't anything you've _forgotten_ to tell me. You know, it has been quite some time since I last heard anything from you—half a year now since my last visit—there must've been something."

"There isn't, I assure you. Therefore you have no business here."

"You're very keen on keeping me away, aren't you? I would almost have thought it was because you were hiding something from me," she said with mysterious, sly smile that made it impossible to tell if she was only saying this to irritate Natarle, if she suspected something and wanted to probe on, or if she genuinely believed so, no confirmation needed, and said it to declare the fact.

"There isn't anything!" Natarle snapped, but she couldn't look Adelaide in the eye when she defended herself; if Adelaide had really suspected that Natarle was being dishonest with her, this was the proof she was waiting for.

Whatever Adelaide's interpretation of Natarle's response was, she did not show it on her face; she simply jumped straight back to the original topic of discussion. "I'm sorry, my dear, I've decided to stay. It's a very long way from my home to Dominion Hall, and I don't want to waste my time by coming here for half a day and leave again."

"But, Adelaide, we have guests," Mwu reasoned.

"I know, I've already met Mr. Neumann here, and I think we'll get along fine. The more the merrier, right?"

"It's not only Arnold we've invited, Adelaide, we-"

"Don't forget, Mwu," she interrupted, "that if Muruta weren't missing, I'd already be his wife now, which means _I_ should have been the one deciding what guests to invite to _my_ house."

Mwu wanted to retort, yet Adelaide's reasoning was too arbitrary for him to return a sound argument; he opened his mouth but nothing came out, and in the end he gave up with a disgruntled growl.

It was Natarle who finally concluded the matter. "Mr. Halberton," she called tiredly, "Please prepare Adelaide's room."

o-o-o

Stellar and Fllay joined for tea, but very much unlike their usual selves, they hardly spoke a word. On the contrary, Adelaide seemed to be enjoying the awkward silence, and had her mind set on making it worse.

Her first attempt was with Fllay. "It's been a long time, Fllay. You were sick the last time I visited, some while after Muruta went missing, and we didn't get to meet. You're different now."

"Am I?" Fllay replied hesitantly, unsure where Adelaide was leading this conversation.

"Yes," the woman smiled. She took a sip from her cup, and continued, "I remember you being much more… _feral_."

Fllay was both stunned and embarrassed at the choice of words used to describe her; she looked down to stare at her own teacup, refusing to respond to the accusation.

Adelaide waited a moment, hoping she could get something more than that, but Fllay stayed quiet, not giving her the satisfaction. She tried again, "Oh? Is that your response: silence?"

She waited longer, but Fllay persisted in resisting her provocation, and in the end she had to give up. "I always knew you'd sound more pleasant if you were mute. Although this is not quite the same, I suppose it would be good enough."

She then tried the same trick with Natarle, and then with Mwu, but got nowhere further with them than with Fllay. Very soon, she got fed up with the lack of response. "Please excuse my honesty, but I must say you are a rather dull lot; how are you all going to spend the rest of the summer with only each other as your company?"Adelaide leaned back against her seat and sighed, "If only Muruta was here, then I wouldn't have to suffer this boredom. I miss him so much, and all those times we spent together; you know, we really are made for each other."

The woman shot a glance towards Natarle; it was an odd look, like a warning, one that said things only the two of them would understand. And Arnold guessed correctly; Natarle had looked away in shame, avoiding Adelaide's accusing eyes.

Whatever Adelaide was trying to get across, Stellar had caught it too; the girl was surprisingly sharp when it came to these matters. She quickly turned to the redhead sitting next to her and pretended to look very concerned, so as to make way for their escape. "Fllay looks rather tired, Stellar thinks you need some rest. Natarle, what do you say?"

Natarle was still at a loss of what was going on, but Mwu caught up quickly. "Yes, she does look a bit paler than she was this morning. Why don't you take her upstairs to rest, Natarle?"

She might not have understood their intentions, but seeing the insistence in their eyes, Natarle nodded obediently. "I'll bring her up then, please excuse us." She stood, and led Fllay out of the room.

After the two had left, the room was even quieter than before, no one willing to start another conversation with the new guest. Stellar was the first to leave, saying she wanted to check how Fllay was doing. Mwu and Murrue followed suit, claiming they had made plans to go riding in the afternoon. They offered for Arnold to come along, but he refused. "I think I'll sit for a little longer," he answered.

Adelaide gave Arnold a sugary smile, and when she saw that the two were out of the door, she immediately complained to him, "I can't believe they didn't extend the offer to me. How uncivil; I know Mwu doesn't like me, but I thought he'd at least try to keep up appearances."

Arnold smiled, though his eyes showed no sympathy. "Compared to the efforts you're making, I think he's doing a fairly good job."

"Oh?" Adelaide's eyes widened, then narrowed again, and her lips curled into a knowing, malicious grin. "So this is the kind of person you really are. You sure are quite the actor."

"I take that as a compliment. Thank you."

"What is it you want then? You wouldn't have stayed for no reason."

"On the contrary, Miss Fenn, I'm still here because I have no reason to leave; it is not me who has intruded, I shouldn't have to go, whether it be this room or this house." Arnold reclined into his seat, fingers interlocked and resting on his abdomen lightly, an obvious show that he was completely at ease. He stared straight into Adelaide's eyes, and the message was clear: _'What you do to them does not work on me.'_

She got the hint, and let out a quiet snort to sound her dissatisfaction. And then an eerie smile crept up her face, as though she had remembered something. "What do you think of Natarle?"

Her mention of the name rose Arnold's curiosity, but he made sure it did not show. "Why would you want to know?"

"Now now, I'm the one who asked the question first. Answer me, what do you think of her?"

"Whatever I think of her, I'd like to keep it private, thank you very much."

"I know you like her."

"I know you don't."

Adelaide giggled; she seemed to be enjoying this conversation. "You _know_ what I mean; not the friendship sort of 'like', but the romantic sort. Don't lie, because I can tell. You were standing a little too close to her just now for me to believe otherwise; you're the possessive kind, aren't you? You must like her very much. Do you think she likes you?"

Arnold stayed quiet, showing no intention of jumping back into this conversation.

"I think she does. Hmm… Or maybe she doesn't; I can't tell. It's quite difficult to guess when it comes to her." She tilted her head in a theatrical manner to emphasis her curiosity, and then she held head up straight again. "But I can say one thing: she is not the sweet, naïve girl you think she is."

This caught Arnold's attention; Adelaide knew from his wide open, skeptical eyes. She smirked, and then spat in a distasteful tone, "She tried to steal Muruta away from me."


	23. There is No Answer to This Question

**There is No Answer to This Question**

It was much too quiet in the library that even his private thoughts seemed to be echoing within its walls, pushing his self-restraint to the limit.

And Arnold could not resist.

He knew he was risking plenty by asking this, but he simply could not resist any longer.

"What is it that you are longing for?"

She looked away from her window and at him with absolute cluelessness spelt across her face.

"Is there something you want? _Someone_ you want?"

"What are you talking about?" She still didn't understand.

He considered, and his mind begged him not to, but the forbidden name slipped past his lips anyway. "Muruta Azrael."

Natarle stared at him, disbelieving her own ears, still trying to align the two words she heard with voice of the man sitting in front of her, and with the memories that flood in, wave after wave. But some things should never be associated together—a fundamental incompatibility—and doing so was like setting snow on fire.

"You never talk about him, but every time his name is mentioned, you look like the world has come crashing down in front of you. Who is he to you?"

Her head hung low, and she spoke in a voice so small that he could barely make out her whispers, "You won't understand, because even I don't."

And he instinctively knew that this was the furthest he could go without causing more damage.

o-o-o

Regret was what he felt afterwards—regretting that despite already knowing he would cause her pain by asking about him, yet still deliberately doing so; regretting that he had confirmed his very own fears, that somewhere deep inside of her, Muruta Azrael held an indefinable yet important place. But what he regretted most was reminding her of this man, letting her realise what _he_ had realised, and seeing her pretend—albeit in complete failure—that what he had asked and she had answered held no significance at all.

Every word she speaks to him, every glance she steals of him, and every step she takes when around him, was done with a cautious awareness of the balancing game they were playing—the thin, frail tightrope they stood on, he moving forward with hesitation in each step, and she indecisive in whether she should let him come close, draw back a few steps, or jump off the rope altogether; the only thing they knew was that one more misstep by either of them could easily set them both falling, and when they reached the ground, all the memories they had created together in these few weeks would end up like shattered crystals—beautiful, broken, unsalvageable.

And he was tired with this.

He was tired of walking the tightrope. He was tired of fighting with shadows; with those memories of a man that even she admitted she could not understand her feelings for. The man was missing—there was no arranged date for his return—and if he had to wait for his reappearance in order for this situation to be resolved, Arnold believed he may very well have to wait for the rest of his life and still never see it happen.

It has become clear to him that Muruta Azrael was the cage holding her back. And so, he would be the one to set her free.

o-o-o

"What does she like other than books?" Arnold asked between sips of his tea.

"I'm sorry?" Mwu raised an eyebrow at the randomness and indirection of the question.

Murrue giggled at Mwu's obliviousness, for she immediately knew who Arnold was referring to, yet she hardly seemed surprised at Mwu being unaware of what was going on between his dear cousin and his best friend. He had a sharp mind which proved useful for many things, but perhaps because he had never imagined that anything remotely resembling a romantic relationship would occur between the two, this particular development had escaped his observations.

Murrue offered a hint with a small voice, "He's referring to Natarle, Mwu."

But the hint gave no help, and Mwu looked to the distance behind her, where the ebony-haired woman sat and talked with his other two cousins, unaware of herself being the topic of discussion on this side of the room. He stared a moment, and still clueless, he looked to Arnold for an answer.

It was Arnold who quirked his brow this time, sending Mwu a glance that asked _'Is it still not obvious enough?'_

'_Of course it's not,'_ was the look he returned before going back to Murrue for explanation.

Murrue sighed lightly, pointing a finger at Mwu and then curling it towards herself, indicating him to move closer. He leaned over, and she whispered something into his ear that made his eyes widen in astonishment. He pulled away as soon as she had finished, and in almost a yell he asked, "Since when did you-"

This time Arnold shot him a glare that warned _'Don't you dare ask now,'_ and right away Mwu halted his question; of course not now, when the subject of their discussion was well within earshot.

Certain that Mwu understood him well, Arnold pressed, "So? Your thoughts, please?"

Mwu wore a slightly unconvinced frown on his face, still unsure what to make of his new knowledge. He made a low humming sound that dragged on unenthusiastically; perhaps holding a small grudge against them for not letting him know earlier? _He_ was the one who was related to the young woman after all.

"Why would you want to know anyway?" He finally spoke.

Arnold turned to look elsewhere, but the way his brows pushed together in a rather apologetic manner was not missed. "I asked something I shouldn't have, and I think I've upset her. She has enough on her mind already; me adding to her troubles is simply unforgivable. I want to make amends, find a way to cheer her up."

There was an odd sincerity in his voice that the two had never come across before, and Mwu was somewhat touched by the fact that Arnold truly cared about his favourite cousin. He raised a finger and tapped it on his chin, eyes staring towards the ceiling as he thought. "She likes sweets."

Arnold frowned. "I was looking for something more durable; something she can keep, that will bring a smile to her face every time she sees it."

"That's ambitious," Mwu noted.

"Don't listen to him; anything you gift her will bring a smile to her face every time she sees it," Murrue encouraged.

Her confidence in Arnold brought a small smile to his face. "I do hope so, but the question remains: what should this 'anything' be?"

"Books?" Mwu offered.

"As I said at the very beginning, what _else_ other than books. We sit in the library together to read every day; there are too many books and I don't want mine to be lost amongst them."

"Jewellery?" Mwu tried again.

"Hmm…" Murrue sounded hesitant, "She doesn't seem wear a lot of jewellery. What does she have, Mwu?"

"She has a silver pendant that she never takes off, and she wears simple earrings. But that's about it, I think."

"Maybe not jewellery," Arnold spoke, "I don't want to overdo it and make her feel she owes me something."

"Oh my, you're taking this very seriously, aren't you?" Mwu asked.

"More than you imagined."

Mwu was about to say something, but Stellar's voice from the not-so-far distance interrupted. "Mwu, we'd like to go to the lake today, since the weather is so nice. Would you three like to join?"

Mwu glanced over to his two friends, who responded with vague gestures of agreement. "Sure, count us in."

"Lovely!" Stellar jumped up and ran towards them, pulling Mwu up from his seat. "Let's go now!"

But there was a problem at hand that they had yet to solve, and Murrue was aware of that. She followed suit when Arnold rose from the sofa, and walked beside him. "I'll let you know when I think of something," she whispered with a wink.

Arnold smiled back an appreciative smile.

o-o-o

The day had come to an end, yet Arnold felt he still was not ready to let it pass.

He wasn't in the mood to sleep; not when his mind was overflowing with thoughts and images of her, but that he could not even let his feelings for her come free.

So instead he sits here in the garden, alone under the midnight moon, and satisfies his longing for her by thinking of her. Everything surrounding him reminds him of her—the white moon was her fair skin, the night sky was her ebony hair; her lips were red like the midnight roses, and her eyes twinkled like the stars. And somehow, as he bathes under the moonlight, he feels like he was surrounded by her presence.

And then suddenly he hears a snap—the noise of a twig broken under the pressure of a footstep—and he turns around.

The first thing he sees is red—the girl's unmistakable, flame-red hair, and dressed in a white night gown. Yet there was something different about her; he couldn't tell exactly what it was; perhaps it was because of the dimness of the night, that everything about her seemed unusual?

"Fllay?" He called out to her.

She did not answer, but kept moving forward in his direction. Her whole body was still, except for the feet that carried her towards him, step by step, and very slowly, as if time flow was taking longer than it normally does. When she finally reached him, Arnold noticed the difference: she was awake, but there was a blankness in her eyes that suggested anything she saw was unrecognised by her.

He waved a hand in front of her, but she hardly even blinked. "Are you alright, Fllay?

"Do I know you?" There was no life in her voice. There was no life in _her_; she was a walking puppet, with only the shell of Fllay he knew remaining, everything else absent.

"Miss Fllay! There you are!" A panicked voice echoed through the still air. It was a young maid with shoulder-length blonde hair he had never met before.

Initially the maid had only Fllay as her sole focus, but when she neared she realised Arnold's presence. "Sir? I'm very sorry, but I wasn't aware that there would be anyone here at night."

"Don't be, I don't normally come here this late, but I couldn't sleep tonight. You are?"

"My name is Abby, Sir."

The name sounded familiar, and if unmistaken he must have heard either Miriallia or Lunamaria mention this name before. "Hello, Abby. This is an odd time for a first meeting, but I suppose that's not the most important matter at hand now. What I need to know is, is Fllay alright?"

The girl fell into a small panic, scrambling for the right words to provide enough explanation. "Y- yes, Sir, Miss Fllay is alright. Not alright per se, she- she is ill, no, that's not the right word for it… She… she has a certain condition, and this happens sometimes. But she's not like this all the time! She's usually, well, _normal_… like how she… normally is… if you understand what I mean, Sir."

Arnold was not sure if he fully understood her, but he knew he at least got hold of the essence of it. So now it made sense; he recalled having come across one of the entries in the journal that talked about Fllay being an ill child, and he was initially doubtful about what was written in it, as in no way its description of the sickly girl seemed to fit the impression of the Fllay he had come to be so familiar with. He took a better look at Fllay; the girl certainly needed more rest.

"I must bring Miss Fllay back now, Sir." Abby said quietly with a timidity in her voice that sounded to Arnold she was asking for permission.

"Yes of course, please do," he nodded with a polite smile to the girl, then towards Fllay. "Good night, Fllay."


	24. 19th December

**19th December**

_Doctor Clyne came today. _

_I know it is only a regular examination; he comes once every month, and every time he tells us the same thing: that all is well, and we just need a bit more patience. We are very used to hearing these words already, to the point that I can memorize the exact voice, exact pace he uses, and every sigh, every pause he takes when he speaks those same words, time after time._

_And we understand; we really do. What can be done has already been done, and, thank heavens, this is already the worst her condition can get. It's just that, every time I see the disappointment in Natarle's eyes, I cannot help but feel sorry for her, and although I know it is wrong and it is not his fault, I would blame Doctor Clyne just a little for not being able to help Fllay more._

_She is still so young, and so beautiful, and it is unfair that her time is wasted away like this. _

_She cannot cry about her misfortune. She cannot be angry at her helplessness. She cannot revisit the memories of the better times. _

_But I want to do all these for her._

* * *

**Author's note**

Hehe, this is probably the shortest chapter in the whole story. But hey, it's got a few good hints! Okay, maybe just one. But it's a big one (I think)!


	25. Please Take Someone Else's Heart

**Please Take Someone Else's Heart**

Natarle was ready to leave for breakfast when she heard the knock on her door. Without the faintest idea who it might be, she asked, "Yes?"

"Good morning, Natarle. It's Murrue."

"Please come in," Natarle answered, curious of what had brought this guest to her room. Not that she did not welcome her—she was even a bit honoured by her visit—she was simply curious, for they were not close companions, and there was little she could offer the woman, especially at this time of the day.

The door opened, and the brunette appeared from behind it with a bright smile on her face; one as bright as the sun that hung in the morning sky, and Natarle was instantly warmed by it. "Good morning, Murrue. How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if you had a spare hairbrush I could borrow; mine broke, and I don't want to go downstairs with such untidy hair."

Natarle tilted her head a bit, surveying the other woman's brown wavy locks; not a hair seemed to be out of place, her appearance looking every bit of perfection despite her claim. But, she chastised herself, that she was not supposed to question another woman's standards—particularly one who was such a beautiful creature; always graceful, always kind—a flawless woman she could only watch and admire, and admit to herself that she would never become half as fine a person.

Her sudden self-awareness rendered her attempt in a polite smile into one that was instead accompanied with an uncomfortable frown. "Yes, I think I do have a brush I can lend you, though next time you could simply ask the servants to bring you one; you wouldn't have to come all the way to my room."

"Oh," Murrue let out a small gasp of comprehension, "I hope I'm not inconveniencing you by coming here, Natarle. I apologise if I-"

"No!" Natarle cut in with a fretful voice, swiftly aware of how her words have been misinterpreted. "I didn't mean that! I simply thought, you shouldn't have to bother yourself with such trivial things… You are our guest; we should be taking care of you better than this."

And then she smiled again one of those sweet, warm smiles. "You're already taking great care of us. It's only a very short distance from my room to yours anyway, so it's no bother."

She was being much too kind, and Natarle would not dare disapprove such kindness by arguing further, instead choosing to swallow her words of disagreement and led her guest inside. "I'll find something for you; do come in while you wait."

When Murrue entered the room, her expression became something between astonishment and admiration; a room like this was most likely not what she had expected. Natarle was not surprised; her bedroom, in itself, was a grand and tasteful lodging, just as the rest of Dominion Hall was, but apart from the essential furniture the room was rather bare and desperately lacked character, or in Stellar's words, her 'personal touch'—like her dress style, like _herself_, most unbefitting for place of such magnificence. She wondered briefly what Murrue's room looked like, though she hadn't need to think too hard to know that it must look much more inviting than hers.

Oddly, Murrue seemed to have genuine interest in her surroundings, her eyes taking a detailed scan of every inch of the room. While Natarle failed to understand why, she decided if that was what amused her guest, she was fine with it. She was still trying to locate a spare hairbrush for her—she had put away most of them as ever since she cut her hair short she hardly needed those things, and after such a long while she could not recall where she last left them—and then she heard a small delighted squeal, "This is so adorable! Is it yours?"

Natarle turned to see Murrue holding _the_ bear—the one and only item in her room that could qualify for such a comment—and she found herself unable to fight the heat rapidly rising up her face, particularly with Murrue looking so expectantly at her. "It… it was a gift… from Fllay," she muttered cautiously, hoping that dropping in her sister's name would somewhat balance out the picture forming inside the woman's head, for she knew that 'adorableness' was something that did not sit well with the image others perceived of her.

"You must like it very much for you to keep it on your bedside table," Murrue assumed, the glimmer in her eyes hinted that she had it all figured out. It did not help that she seemed to notice, as she ruffled the bear's clumpy fur, that it looked much more worn than it should if it just sat there and was left untouched.

Was there a point in trying to explain herself? Natarle handed Murrue the hairbrush she found as she considered quickly, and as pointless as it sounded, she could only repeat her answer, "It was a gift."

Murrue giggled, but did not push further regarding the matter. She held the hairbrush up, and smiled satisfactorily, "Thank you, Natarle. You've been _most_ helpful."

o-o-o

Judging by the knock on the library door, Arnold knew the visitor was not Natarle—whom he was expecting to arrive any moment now—but someone else. He knew, because neither of them ever knocked anymore; their paired presence in this room became so natural, that it was in fact stranger if either of them was absent, and they were comfortable enough that they need not knock to announce the other of their arrival. This, for Arnold, was a rather encouraging fact.

A curious face peered from behind the door, and he saw that it was Murrue. "I thought I'd find you here," she said, triumphant at her successful find.

"You were looking for me why?" Arnold asked, watching her come towards his with a bit of bounciness in her step. She seemed excited, and he wondered why it was not Mwu she went to instead of him. She was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and normally he'd be suspicious, except something told him he should not be—at least not this time.

"I know what you can get for Natarle."

So soon? He only sought for her help yesterday, and now she already has an answer? "How?" he asked, a bit skeptical.

"I was in her room this morning," she said, proud of her achievement.

Arnold's lips tugged upwards, unable to hide his satisfaction of the confirmation that her sources were reliable. "Go on," he pushed.

"How would you thank me?"

He thought for a moment. "You shall have my unwavering support should you find yourself in a situation with Mwu as your opposition. Any, and every, situation. For two weeks."

"Three."

"Deal."

Murrue looked at him, slightly stunned; if she had known he'd be so easy, she would definitely have bargained for more. But then how was she supposed to know? Arnold hardly ever gave in to extortion, so how was she to foresee that he would see differently in this matter? When she came to think about it, he usually took her side in their banters anyway, which meant she hardly gained much. But a deal was a deal. She made a small pout, acknowledging the agreement they had just made. Putting one hand on the table to support herself, she leaned down, their faces close, and placed her other hand near her mouth and whispered in pretended secrecy. "I guess she's too embarrassed to admit it, which really is quite endearing, but there is this bear that sits at her bedside table that she is very fond of, and she tries to hide behind the fact that it was a gift from Fllay."

"A bear?" Arnold queried.

"Yes, a bear. You do know what a bear is, don't you? Not the real ones, but those small and soft, fluffy playthings, and hers has a red bowtie around its neck…" Her last words died when she noticed that Arnold was no longer interested in what she had to say, instead looking into the distance behind her with an alertness that she instantly recognised. She turned around to see, standing at the open door, the person who had secured Arnold's undivided attention by merely entering into presence. She straightened herself and smiled as she greeted, "Hello, Natarle."

The raven-haired woman stood dumbstruck, staring at them as though it was too difficult to comprehend what she was seeing that she could not spare time and thought to respond to Murrue's simple greeting. An awkward moment passed until she reached her comprehension, evident by the widening of her eyes accompanied by a bright flush on cheeks, and a short, quiet, "Oh."

Whatever understanding she came to, it was hardly decipherable by the response she had given. "Natarle?" Arnold asked as he stood up, wanting to welcome her into the room before she were to elaborate.

But Natarle clearly thought differently. She took half a step back, her hands waving frantically in front of her, and there was an odd gloominess shadowing her beautiful violet eyes. "I'm sorry! I- I didn't…" She stammered, her focus darting erratically across to almost every corner of the room, _except_ Murrue and him. "I didn't mean to intrude! I didn't realise you two… I, um, I am-… Oh, please don't mind me!"

"Wait!" Arnold called after her, but it was too late; she had already fled, the door closing behind her with a careless slam.

Murrue watched in confusion, and turned to her friend. "Why does she look so shocked?"

Arnold frowned but gave no reply; he too was considering the same question, and there was one queer explanation forming in his head—one that would be nothing but problematic if it was the correct explanation.

"What did she 'realise' about us?" Murrue continued to ask, "Was it something we've done that made her run like that?"

As soon as the last note left her question, a heavy sigh was heard. "_No_," Arnold murmured with so much frustration packed into that one little word. He had at first only suspected, but Murrue's innocent queries had clarified it for him that he had guessed correctly.

"What is it?" she pressed.

"Oh, no." He said dejectedly, taking a pause as if he needed time to confirm his thoughts again. When he decided to continue, the last word left his lips in slight distaste, "She thinks you and I are… _together_."

o-o-o

She chastised herself over and over again as she hurried down the corridor back towards her own room.

The tears that threatened to fall had blurred her vision, and she accidentally bumped into a corner. But she knew it was not really her inability to see clearly that caused the mishap; it was her inability to focus. She was running, but her mind had been left behind, elsewhere.

Where the gentle sunrays warmed the room, grazing the soft, creamy white hand laid on top of her favourite wooden table. Where one's brown silken curls fell onto the other's broad shoulders. Where gentle whispers were exchanged, and amused upon. Where the beauty of the scene, had she not interrupted, might have been immersed with slowly-heated passion.

It was just punishment; she deserved this—to witness the cold, hard truth with her very own eyes—for daring to dream of what she was not allowed. She had reminded herself so many, _many_ times already, that love was a sentiment she could not afford—_particularly_ towards those she treasured most.

She was in a way thankful for walking in on time to have seen it with her own eyes, that he already had someone—someone so impeccable, that there was simply no room for comparison, and thus no point in imagining what could have been, because 'could have' was never happening. If she had not seen this moment, she would not be feeling this heavy, unyielding pain in her chest that made her unable to breathe, and she would not have been aware that she had made such an unforgivable mistake.

The mistake of falling in love.

It was a wakening call that came in time, giving her sufficient warning before she fell too hard, too deep, too far into this empty dream. But all was good now; he was happy with Murrue, and with this knowledge, she would be able to keep her distance, and keep him safe.

And this was the greatest blessing she could give.

* * *

**Author's note**

This chapter marks the half-way point of the whole story. 24 more chapters to go!


	26. Catching the Canary

**Catching the Canary**

She hadn't returned to the library, and she did not turn up for tea. And when she finally showed herself at dinner, it was like their first dinner all over again—she would hardly respond to anyone's attempt to make a conversation with her, and the only difference was that, thankfully this time, she had shed the hostility.

This was exactly what Arnold had been trying to avoid, and the reason he always reminded himself to be so careful with her. But now despite his precautions, their relationship had gone down the path he most wanted to keep away from, and he knew he had only very little time to act, before it was too late and she had made her mind up to throw away what he spent so much passion and patience in building, forever shutting him out of her heart.

He was waiting for the right moment, which started to look more and more like it was never going to come. First it was Adelaide who, before departing after dinner, took her time in berating Natarle for her poor hospitality. Then it was Stellar and Fllay, on their way to the drawing room, attempting to cheer her up but with no avail. Even Mwu was trailing closely behind them, clearly waiting for a chance to jump in and do the same himself. All Arnold needed was a little time with her, alone, so that he could explain himself and earn back her favour. But when they had reached a staircase she took a quick turn and two steps up, ready to go the full distance if Mwu had not called out to her and stop her in her tracks; her destination, it seemed, was not the same as theirs, as they had all naturally assumed.

"Natarle, are you not joining us in the drawing room?" Mwu asked.

Arnold caught her eyes flitting towards him before focusing on Mwu, and Mwu reflexively mirroring her reactions, locking eyes with Arnold for one fleeting moment, immediately suspecting.

"I'm not feeling too well tonight, may I please be excused?" Her honest eyes told that it was a genuine request for permission, and not a question to mock Mwu's nosiness, but that only made her request all the more unusual. Of all the people in this house, she was the one who had the least need to ask for permission for anything; she only had to say the word and it was done, no questions asked. Not only that, but knowing Natarle, ever so insistent on keeping etiquette, deciding to leave her guests without her company in the drawing room only had two possibilities: either she really was unwell, or that the discomfort she felt when with their company was too much, it simply could not be ignored or tolerated anymore—like she had been able to when they first arrived—and she was trying to flee. Seeing how she already ran away once in the afternoon, Arnold could have bet on his life that it was the latter.

Mwu took one step up the staircase, and he being taller than her, already meeting her eye to eye. He laid a hand on her forehead, checking for a temperature, then lowered his hand to her cheek and kept it there as he asked with unusual softness, "You don't seem to have a fever. Do you need me to get Doctor Clyne?"

She raised one hand and held his wrist, undecided if she were to pull it away or keep it there, but she did manage to swing her head ever so lightly to refuse his offer. "I'll be fine, I just need some rest."

Watching closely every little bit of the interaction between the two, Arnold felt a surge of jealously rush through his core. He understood fully that Mwu was only caring about Natarle as a cousin should, but this trust between them was the exact thing he was aching for, and seeing it happen so effortlessly between them made him feel a sudden, unfounded hatred against his best friend. He was being ridiculous, and he knew it, but he would rather admit it than pretend he did not want to be the one standing in that place now, instead of Mwu.

"Alright, it's bedtime for you now then," Mwu urged as he let go of her.

"Hold on," Arnold called to them. "Natarle, there's something I need to talk to you about. May I please have a moment?"

With her shifting herself to hide behind her cousin, she need not say it out lout to give her answer, but she said it anyway. "I'm sorry, but can we speak another time? Perhaps now is not the best time for me."

"Let her rest, Arnold," Mwu intervened, an unusual coarseness overlaying his voice. Taking this as her cue, Natarle eagerly climbed up the stairs and disappeared around the corner like a rabbit that had just escaped the claws of its predator. Arnold shot Mwu a glare, but he was unmoved.

"So what was that all about?" Mwu questioned in a mildly accusing tone once she was out of their watch. "And don't say you don't know what I mean, because I know her better than you two do, and I would have to be blind to not notice the way her behaviour changed towards both of you. She could hardly look at either of you in the eyes." He eyed Murrue briefly, and—with much bias—deciding the fault was unlikely hers, he turned back to Arnold. "What have you done to her?"

Murrue glanced over to Arnold, but he looked too annoyed with Mwu that it was unlikely he would be giving the explanation Mwu required from them. She knew from experience that when the boys fought—when they _truly_ fought—they were both impossible to deal with, and this was where she came in, no choice given whatsoever. "Well," she spoke sheepishly, "it wasn't exactly what we'd done to _her_, just what we'd done. She saw us in the library together and mistaken that we were, well, _lovers_."

Mwu raised an eyebrow, taking a long moment's thought to digest the information and conclude that it was actually quite humorous. "Oh," he suppressed a chuckle, now obviously more relaxed. "Her mind works in funny ways sometimes. Sorry about that, Arnold. But you can't blame me; she's my cousin, I'm supposed to look out for her."

For Arnold though, it was much less amusing. "Don't laugh," he complained. "You may be glad to know it's just a misunderstanding, but try explaining it to _her_. She won't even let me talk to her, no thanks to you. It'll only get worse if I don't clear this up soon."

The blond shrugged. "Would you like me to help?" he offered lightly, though his voice told he wasn't serious about it anyway—Arnold was not the kind of person who would ask for others' help in situations like this.

Mwu had been right; Arnold looked at him, then turned his head away dismissively. "No thank you. This must be something I do by myself."

His mind started racing, trying to piece together a plan that would help him catch this fluttery little bird.

o-o-o

She missed the library.

Never once since the discovery of her haven had she ever passed a day without visiting the place, and the brief entry—one step only into its boundaries and an immediate retreat—did not count. It was not that she didn't want Arnold sharing her favourite place; she was the one who welcomed him during his first few visits, and it would be unfair if she kicked him out because _she_ was too embarrassed by what she saw. It was just that the scene she saw was too much for her, and if she'd ever walk into another one the next time—good Lord, she did not even want to think about it anymore, because for the briefest of moments the memory skittered across her mind, and it already sunk her heart into a deep, dark pit that made her feel too ill to consider revisiting it.

And now, her need to see the library was as a baby bird's need to return to its nest, and her need for her books was as its need for food. She was desperate; locking herself away in her bedroom for the whole day had exhausted her of the last unfinished title she had at hand, and she must return to the library to refill her stock, or risk dying of boredom in the following days to come, which she planned on continuing hiding in her quarters.

The corridors were dimly lit; her only sources of light were the moon shining through the window and the small flickering flame of her lantern. She took each step lightly and carefully, because she couldn't shake off the bad intuition that she would be caught by something, _someone_, hiding in the shadows. She wasn't afraid she would be disturbing anybody; everyone should be asleep at this hour, and there were no guest rooms at this end of the house anyway. Though somehow, she could not help but feel slightly ashamed by her own actions, sneaking around the house in the dark, like little mice, when there were better times in the day to do this.

When she was finally standing in front of the library, she felt an unexpected wave of relief, even when she knew her mission was only half-accomplished. She held her breath as she opened the door, and cringed a little when it creaked at the hinges. Tucking her head in she scanned the room quickly—good, there was nothing amiss—and she allowed herself in.

The woody scent of her books and bookcases rushed towards her as if welcoming her return, and she inhaled greedily; it was as though she could finally breathe again—since when had she been feeling this inexplicable suffocation? Ah, yes, she knows now; it was when she stepped into this same room earlier today—she reined her thoughts, reminding herself again the very reason she was here _now_. She made her way slowly towards her favourite place by the window, and upon reaching it, she set her lantern onto the table, and turned around to face the shelf. She ran her fingers delicately across the spines of the neatly aligned books as though they were her long lost friends, at the same time letting herself a quiet laugh at her own silliness. Only half a day, and she was already wistful for them? She must be overthinking and dramatizing things.

"Hello, Natarle," a crisp yet deep voice cut through the dark silence like a well-honed blade. She jumped and suppressed an instinctive yelp, half because she had genuinely been startled, the other half because she recognised the voice. She cursed herself; no, she was not overthinking things, and yes, half a day was too short for an escape. Her name spoken in his voice, she remembered, sounded beautiful, and a mere few hours was far from enough time for her to forget that.

He was clever, she had to give him credit for that. He knew to sit away from their usual corner, where the moon rays hit and brightened for her to see. He hid under the shadows, so she would not notice him until she was too close to withdraw.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded with as much dignity she could muster.

"Waiting for you," Arnold answered smoothly. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Waiting? That did not make sense; why would he be waiting for her at this hour? But she didn't have time to dwell on that thought; his stare was intense, and she stammered, not quite sure what her answer should be, "I- I was-"

"Hold on; actually, don't answer that; let me guess. You are here because you were down to the last third of your book before today, and must have finished even that when you hid in your room for the entire afternoon and evening. You need a new one. You _had_ to be coming back soon. Better now than during daylight, when you'd rather be _alone_. Am I correct?"

_Very_. How did he know?

It was as if he could read her mind by merely looking at her, because the triumph in his smile said _'I simply know'_. He was, however, generous enough to enlighten her. "I know because I pay attention to every detail of you. Every word you say, everything you do, every smile, every frown, _everything_."

She stared at him with confused disbelief. "Why would you need to pay attention to me?"

He huffed. "Do you not know at all?" He sounded exasperated, which was odd, because how would she know why he paid attention to her when she did not even notice he was paying attention to her? "Tell me first," he quickly followed, giving her no time to mull over his first question. "Why are you avoiding me?"

She felt her face burn. "Why would I be avoiding you in _my_ _own_ house!" As soon as the words left her, she covered her lips with her fingertips, taken aback by herself; she had intended it as a question, so how did it come out sounding like a reprimand?

"If you aren't, then why did you not come back to the library in the afternoon like you usually do? Why do you instead come here at such a late hour?"

"I didn't… want to disturb you two! You were having such a lovely time together, and it was rude of me to come barging in like that… I- just wanted to… let you two… um, take the time you needed."

"If I'm not mistaken, by 'you two', you mean Murrue and me?" He still wore a calm face, yet there was an undertone of impatience in his voice. Oh, good heavens, was he angry? What had _she_ done that angered him? Had she not already said it was not intentional that she walked in the wrong moment?

She had never seen him this way; something of it reminded her of snowstorms, and she instinctively knew she should be afraid. Her pulse was running fast, and she hastily shuffled through her day's memories attempting to find another encounter that might explain his resentment towards her. When her mind came back from the search empty-handed, she panicked. That _was_ the reason then.

"I really am sorry!" She backed one step; should she leave, and maybe come back another time when he was no longer cross at her? Or should she just brace this, and hope that once he was finished, they could go back to being friends? She remembered his kindness, something she had become accustomed to; _that_, she now understood, was supposed to be reserved for someone else, and he probably decided he was no longer sparing her any. How very lucky, Murrue was, to have this man's complete love and devotion. And all she was asking for was his friendship.

She was not jealous; jealousy was a malicious emotion, yet she would never wish ill on either of them. But then, how does one define this feeling she had: the inconsolability in the yearning of something that she could never rightfully have?

However it was defined, it didn't really matter; it was not going to change anything. She hung her head low; she wasn't sure she would be able to hide away the regret she felt when saying the words that were to come, but at least he would not be able to see it. "You and Murrue, you two are a perfect match. I… I wish only the very best for you two."

A long moment passed; a _very_ long moment, amplified by emptiness of the night, that its deafening silence almost hurt her ears. She did not dare to look up.

And that was when he sighed. A heavy, frustrated sigh, of controlled anger and relief, that stretched on until all of those emotions had been expended. When he spoke again, he sounded morose still, yet much more consoled. "You've got it all wrong."

Wrong? How? Her head shot up and she found her vision being monopolized by his emerald eyes, already too late to look away—there was a certain desperateness in his visage that made her want to apologise for no apparent reason.

He let out a shorter, smaller sigh. "Can you not see that the person Murrue is in love with is your cousin Mwu? And him with her? She is my friend; one that I've known for longer than I can remember, but I am not in love with her. I'm in love with _you_."

She blinked blankly; she must have heard wrong.

"Natarle, I have fallen in love with you."

The joy that overwhelmed her was so intense that it felt almost like relief. She must have forgotten to breathe for a while, because she the next thing her mind registered was that she had been gasping for air.

But suddenly her thoughts shifted, and all of the joy quickly dispersed, leaving an empty space where the fear from the pit of her heart emerged into its place.

The fear slowly took its form—baby blue eyes, platinum blond hair, and flawlessly pale skin; what angels should look like, only that he was not one. But she still remembers him. _Vividly_. And she remembers her fear—fear of the inevitable, of the destructive nature of her own existence, of her powerlessness when it came to any sort of sentiment even vaguely resembling love.

"You- you can't… You shouldn't. I'm not right for you. You just… _can't_."

His brows pulled together in a slightly wounded manner, but not one bit dissuaded. "Do you not love me?"

Of course she loved him—she had that figured out already earlier today—and _that_ was exactly the problem.

"You are a very good person, the most wonderful I've ever met, in fact, and I don't think I'll ever find anyone else that could be what you are to me, which is exactly why. I can't do this to you. You deserve someone beautiful, innocent and pure, someone who-… Someone who is _perfect_."

"But you are exactly all that," he said with his dark, velvety voice, sincere, tender, and convincing all the same time. "To me, you are perfect. You are kind, intelligent, strong-willed, everything I want in the woman I'd like to love. You are innocent and pure, like winter's first snow. And you are beautiful. Blindingly so, that every time I look at you I can't think of anyone else; or anything at all—except that I love you—for that matter. You don't realise that, do you?"

"No I don't," she blurted out without thinking, immediately regretting how obtuse she sounded, yet secretly pleased at the chuckle it drew from him. Oh, but this was not the time for delight, because he was walking right into the worst mistake he was ever going to make, and she needed to stop him. She looked up to him ruefully. "Nor am I any of the things you say I am. I'm not perfect. Not beautiful, not innocent, not pure. What I am, is cursed."

He looked lost, which was expected, because he wouldn't have known. "All those who are close to me, they suffer, get hurt, or even die," she explained, "Mama, Pa- Father, _others_. You will too, if you come too close."

"Fllay and Stellar look fine to me," he challenged.

"They've suffered, in their respective ways."

"What about Mwu?"

She made a sad laugh. "He's the lucky one, because he knew to keep his distance."

He still wore that skeptical expression, and she was not sure what more she could say to make him believe her. "You will regret it," she said, _'and so will I,'_ her mind echoed. "When you realise the person I truly am, you will know that it was the biggest mistake to even _think_ that you would love a person like me."

"Tell me why."

"I… I can't." No, she really couldn't. The past has been buried, and she was certain one day it will be dug up again to make her pay for her crimes, but today was not the day.

"Well then, whatever you've convicted me of remains to be seen, though I very much doubt I will be guilty of the charge." He moved forward, half a step apart from her, and she watched him, forgetting that she probably should not have let him so close until it was already too late—he had quietly slipped his hand underneath hers, holding it gingerly. "I do have faith in myself that I'll be able to persevere through whatever challenges that may come, and I have every intention of guarding your side no matter the circumstances."

"You won't be able to promise that." She sounded doubtful and hopeful at the same time, and she hated herself for speaking in such a ridiculous tone, but he simply smiled. Her heart leaped.

"I'm not going to promise, because promises can be broken. I am going to prove it."

Her eyes widened as though he had sworn her a miracle, and somehow, from the way his lips pulled upwards into a very confident grin, she started to believe, maybe if she wished fervently enough, it would come true. She should definitely start wishing right this moment.

His hold onto her hand tightened a bit, and watching as he leaned slowly towards her, she immediately sensed what was happening. She squeezed her eyes shut as a reflexive response to her shock, but then, what surprised her even more, was the warm, soft, and rather chaste kiss on the corner of her lips. She opened her eyes again to see him waiting with patience.

"You don't have to agree to anything now, but please do keep in mind that I am very determined to win your faith."

Oh, must he fill her with such anticipation?

* * *

**Author's note**

I'm really sorry for taking so long with this update! The last two months had been absolutely crazy both at home and at work, and I don't see how it'll be improving in the short term… Updates will probably be a bit slower from now onwards. I'll try my best to keep posting every one or two weeks, but in case it doesn't happen, at least you know I'm just busy and hadn't forgotten about this!


	27. NINE

**NINE**

Something had changed, Stellar knew it, and she knew, also, that she did not like it one bit.

She could tell it from the complaints Fllay had starting making, saying that Natarle was not standing firm enough anymore against Muruta when the two of them were the wronged party. She could tell it from the way Muruta would drop his fights with Fllay like a broken toy he had lost interest in the instant Natarle entered his periphery, and then continue the fight with his new toy instead. She could tell it from the way Natarle would never abandon her duty to protect her sister, yet became increasingly lenient with Muruta whenever the two were in dispute. Sometimes, it felt like she was even a bit too eager to let Muruta off, just to pacify him enough to end the quarrels, as though she was more concerned with what would come next if he left the fight in defeat.

And then there was that smile she would sometimes find on her brother's face; a smile she had never seen before, a smile he would reserve only for Natarle, whether she was aware or not of being the receiving end of it. It was a smile that reminded Stellar of snakes, that made the fine hairs on her skin stand and send her shivering even under the warm spring sun.

The smile was seen most frequently when he was fighting with Natarle—often before the fight, sometimes during the fight, and _always_ after the fight. And he would fight her differently too. With Fllay, it was pure hatred, as though there was nothing in the world he could despise more, and he wholly, passionately, and desperately wanted to be rid of her. But with Natarle, he fought as if he enjoyed it, like a predator taking time in toying and teasing its prey before devouring it whole, except Stellar never figured when the final strike was delivered.

She was worried. Whatever was happening, it was dangerous, and it was inevitable. And what worried her most, was that she did not even know what it was.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

When Adelaide made her second visit, things changed again. Oh but wait, not _things_; there was just one. One single change, and it held so much significance for the hierarchy ruling Dominion Hall that it had reshaped the whole game.

It sprung onto them one unsuspecting day, where everything was happening like a set sequence for an ordinary lunch on a late spring day. It was raining hard and cold, not one bit the mellow, clean drizzles spring rain should be like, though very matching with Muruta's bad mood. He seemed irritable, but he was quiet and kept to himself, and everyone—Adelaide included—knew better than to draw him into their businesses; her and Fllay's businesses, really, since they were the only ones who could not stay quiet at the table. They were shoving insults at each other more quickly and often than shoving the food into their mouths, and Stellar had a feeling it was only a matter of time for Muruta's patience to be completely worn. She was trying to think of something quick in order to stop them before they turned it into a full-blown disaster, but she was inept and undecided, and was still considering her options when Natarle finally took charge.

All she had asked was for Fllay to be quiet for a moment, but apparently Adelaide didn't appreciate her help.

"Don't you interrupt me when I am doing you the favour of teaching your obnoxious sister a lesson!"

"Shut your mouth." Those were the first words Muruta spoke, and Adelaide's face gleamed with triumph.

"Yes, he's right! You have no right to speak in this house anyway. You're only a filthy-"

"I meant you!" Muruta hollered, and the room went dead. All eyes were on him, questioning, but he gave his attention to Adelaide only. He took his time, raised his napkin to wipe his mouth clean, and then set it onto the table. And then he spoke calmly, but with a voice as hard as stone, "I've had enough of your quarrels. You are not to speak to her in this manner again. Have I made myself clear?"

Adelaide nodded blankly, still in shock as she watched him make his exit. Her face was one moment white as a sheet, the next red like chilli pepper, and she glared at Natarle with ferocity that could have burned the room down, except Natarle was in too much shock herself of Muruta defending her that she could only sit and look back.

"You've done something to him, haven't you, you wench?" Adelaide spat, and left the room bitterly.

And that was the last thing she ever said to Natarle till her departure three days later.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Things changed yet again after Adelaide left. This time slowly, gradually, and subtly. Little things, that Stellar would have easier spotted had she been paying attention to the big picture, but had missed thoroughly, she realised when she later looked back, because she was too lost within it during those months.

Little things, like how the fights ended, more abruptly than before. Like the other troubles that surfaced, not with Muruta, but between the two sisters. Like whenever she found her brother staring at Natarle from the distance, and strangely remembering those times when she was a much younger and ignored child, staring at him from the distance in exactly the same way, hoping he would look back.

Little things that she would have relayed to Mwu, which might been helpful for both him and the situation, had she been wiser to know what it was then, and the difference it would have made.

o-o-o

"It's just _different_, Mwu. Stellar doesn't know how to explain it, but it's just different. Not right. Strange. Does Mwu understand what Stellar means?"

'_Not really,'_ Mwu mused, but knew to keep it to himself. The girl seemed quite stressed, and he was trying to help—if not the situation, at least to get her to relax a bit—and telling her he hadn't understood a thing she was saying probably would not do any good. She couldn't explain things any clearer if she tried anyway, so it was likely better if he settled for calming her nerves now, and investigate into the matter later.

She was right though, it was all too strange in Dominion Hall—the people, their interactions, the atmosphere, just the general vibe the house was giving off—it was as though the house had a soul of its own, and had adapted to the sentiments of its new owner, allowing a bleaker, menacing character echo through the halls and corridors as reverberation of the discordancy amongst its occupants.

Stellar was almost frantic when she came to meet him at his arrival, which did not seem like the right kind of anticipation; he most certainly was expecting something more of a delighted welcoming rather than a cry for help.

If only he had known the girls were in any sort of trouble, he definitely would have changed his plans and came here first, instead of making a four-week stop at Arnold's—where Murrue was also visiting, as the three of them had planned—before coming back to Dominion Hall. But Natarle had never mentioned anything in her letters, and he hadn't suspected. Now that Stellar had brought his attention to the matter, it did started to look more and more like Natarle had been holding back on something, when he remembered in her letters how she told him all about Dominion Hall, but very little about herself.

"It's alright, Stellar," he used his most comforting voice, and tried to sound certain of himself, like he already had a plan up his sleeve, when he in fact hadn't the faintest idea what he needed to be certain of. "Leave it to me, I'll talk to Natarle. I'm sure it'll turn out all fine."

o-o-o

He was trotting behind her like a dog waiting to be fed, and he knew she found him bothersome, but she would not answer his questions properly and he did not want to give up.

"For the umpteenth time, Mwu, I don't have a problem, and I don't need your help."

"Then why aren't you telling me anything about what happened during these few months?" Mwu was aware he sounded like a stubborn child unwilling to admit defeat, but he knew there was truth in his words, and because of that he persisted. "You used to tell me everything! Every little thing, like the little tricks Stellar played on you, Fllay's sleepovers, goodness, even when the leaves have changed colour! But now all I hear are the mundane details of how you run the house. How can I believe you when you say nothing's wrong?"

"That's because there's nothing to tell! This is how life is here. In case you haven't noticed, Dominion Hall had never been an exciting place, so of course you're going to be disappointed when you come back after a whole month's stay with your best friends!"

Mwu sighed. He ran his hand trough his blond curls, then let it drop to his side futilely. "Natarle, I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need _your help_."

She had stressed both words, but peculiarly, as though they were separate entities, each holding a different emphasis; as though he should read it to mean she did not need _him_, and she did not need _help_. And he couldn't comprehend it.

That was the problem with Natarle; she was never the type of person to share her deepest emotions, and to understand her he needed to pay attention not only to the words she say, but more so the words she does not say. He knew this long ago; sometimes he found it frustrating, other times amusing, though he never had trouble figuring out what was on her mind. But not this time.

He reached for her, and within the short instant of his movement he glimpsed her suspecting face change into one of horror the moment his hand brushed the side of her arm, slapping it away as though his touch burned like fire. He watched in disbelief, and was at a complete loss for how to react; she looked terribly distressed, but this was what he had always done whenever he attempted to comfort her, and it never failed before. He was still trying to make sense of the situation, yet she had already donned a mask of careless indifference, putting the whole episode behind her as though it hadn't happened.

"You can just go back to your friends if you're feeling bored of coming here and staying with us. It's not an obligation, you know."

"I'm not bored!" How many times did he have to repeat himself in order for her to appreciate that he was not complaining, but trying—so very hard—to help? "I just need to know what's wrong. I love spending time here, particularly with you. But lately, it's different. It's that… you no longer share anything with me. The happy things, the sad things, the troubles you would always come to me for help with… It's like you've _changed_."

That was when he saw the cold purple flames in her eyes light up again. "_I_ haven't changed. _You_ have." Her voice was like ice, and he suddenly remembers the times when she sounded much more timid than this. She was wrong. She had changed.

They _both_ had. Those subtle, small changes that they never noticed, one after another, and then more and more of them until they've amounted into a picture that looks completely different to the one they had in their memories—like how one would never realise when in idleness how quickly time passes, and when he lifts his head again the sun had set the moon already risen—and only now, as she make such a statement, that he sees the changes in them, around them, and between them have already made them half-strangers.

He remembers a promise; one that he had every intention of keeping when he first made it years ago—and he still does. If the dead comes back to haunt him, he knows he fully deserves it, inexcusable. But what he did not understand was how it all went wrong, when, where, and why.

When she turned her back to leave, all he could do was watch her go.


	28. Those Who Are Happy

**Those Who Are Happy**

Arnold decided, with utmost satisfaction, that he could sit here all day and do nothing but watch her, and still consider at the end of it that was it a day well spent.

Natarle was currently standing in front of the bookcase, her back at him with absolutely no idea he was staring, being too concentrated on the task at hand, which was to choose the next book she would be reading.

She was fascinating in this way; she would give her full attention to everything she does, even something as little as selecting a book, and that twinkle in her determined eyes was simply enchanting. Every time he saw her so engrossed in something, he would feel just a tinge of envy at whatever it was that caught her interest. For example, the book which its pages she were flipping now, still contemplating if this one would be her companion for the coming few days.

He got up and strolled towards her until he was standing right behind her, and she still had not noticed. "Hello there."

She turned her head around in surprise; she would have turned _herself_ around, except she was immediately aware how close he was standing—if she had moved just one bit, her back would already be pressing against him—and from the pinkness on her cheeks he right away deduced why between the bookcase and himself she chose the former. He laughed, and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her away from the bookcase into his embrace. She smelled sweet, like honey and jasmine; subtle, delicate, yet for him the most alluring scent that had ever caught his fancy. So very tempting, and she hadn't even tried. "I would like to kiss you," he whispered into her ear. "May I?"

She whirled around this time, unintentionally pushing him away in her frantic scuffle for breathing space. Her face was burning red, and she stammered with a shout, as though she was not sure whether she was mad or mortified. "W- wh- what do you mean?"

He gave himself a silent smile. Recently he has been catching moments like these more often, when she would allow him glimpses of her rawer emotions. Those he had become familiar with—the tentative smiles, the melancholic frowns, and the pretty pink blushes of bashfulness; the ones that made him fall in love in the first place—they never ceased, but there were many, many more. There was that trouble-free laugh she gave when he told a joke; there was a proud grin she would show when she found a knowledge she knew but he did not; there was the frustrated grumble when she could not find the book which she _swore_ was supposed to be where she was looking; and there was once, in which she was absolutely fuming when she found Mwu hiding underneath their table in the library—and decided against revealing himself—because of the hide-and-seek game he was playing with Murrue, Stellar, and Fllay. Oh, she was not angry because he was playing such a childish game and had used her precious library for it; she was angry because he had overheard every bit of the conversation between Arnold and her—which was exactly why Arnold exposed him without giving as much as a second-thought. And God help him, but when Arnold watched her give her older cousin a thorough dressing down, he concluded that she was incredibly beautiful even when she was wrapped in hot-red flames of fury.

And now, she was gazing at him with a perplexing expression that seemed both embarrassed and expectant, all the while trembling like a frightened little lamb. He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, and let his thumb trace along her jaw line, then gently across her lower lip. "I mean exactly what I said. I'd like to kiss you. Would you let me?"

His stare must have been a bit too intense for her, because she had cast her glance sideways, but was careful enough not to move away from his touch. "W- why… would you want to do that?"

"Why would I want to do that, you ask?" He held her chin carefully with one hand, his other resting lightly on the curve of her back. "Natarle, I'm in love with you, and I've been wanting to kiss you every single day. The only problem is, I don't want to upset you, if this is not what you want. So I thought I should be polite and ask. What do you say? May I?"

She managed only half of a nod; he didn't allow her enough time to retract her approval—if she ever had the intention to—and had already delved down for his prize.

The first kiss was light and brief, very careful and slightly hesitant, for he was worried he might scare her needlessly before she had a full grasp of what was happening. He pulled apart slowly, just enough time to see that she was as content as he was, and at once he went back for more.

It was different this time; the tenderness that lingered from the first kiss had quickly deepened into unrelenting passion. He could not get enough of her. She was undecided between leaning onto him or pulling apart, and had wedged her arms between them as though searching for an escape route, but when her legs started to fail her she had instead grasped feebly onto his shirt for help. She was almost falling until he caught her, one arm tightening around her waist as he brought her back up to him, his other hand on the nape of her neck to keep her lips on his. He was eager and inexorable and still painstakingly gentle with her, and she was simply struggling for air.

He had to let go, or she'd probably suffocate. When he broke apart—though not without disappointment—to let her breathe, she fell onto him, resting her head on his shoulders; it was then another kind of pleasure, listening to the noise of her heavy breathing, accompanied by the sensation of her hot breaths on his collar. He shooed away the devilish voice inside his head, and reminded himself to be careful.

She was trying to stand by herself, pressing lightly onto him for support, which he helped her by holding her shoulder as she straightened, but still he refused to remove the arm wrapped around her. She looked at him, and there was a very endearing helplessness in her gaze. He couldn't resist the urge to leave a soft kiss on her forehead.

"I love you, Natarle, and I will do everything I need to in order to win your faith."

But she did not reply.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

There were many things you could tell about others from the way they presented themselves. Take for an example, how Mwu and Murrue sat together on the sofa, shoulders slightly touching, and the occasional glances they stole at each other as they waited for the remaining people to arrive, Arnold knew something had happened between them—something significant, and pleasant, he supposed, from the smiles they hadn't been able to hide. Not that Mwu had insisted everyone, including Lewis and Erica, to gather at the drawing room at tea-time—any excuse for absence not accepted, Adelaide the sole exception—was not a big enough hint.

"So," Mwu began undecidedly, taking a small pause as if to gather his courage. "We have news to share."

"Oh yes?" Stellar chirped. Good news always got her excited. "Please do tell!"

"Ahem," he cleared his throat unnecessarily, probably just for the effect, and Murrue tried to suppress a grin. "I, uh- Murrue and I are engaged."

There was one short moment of silence, and then congratulatory words sprung like small fireworks. It was about time, Arnold thought as he watched the couple thank everyone for their kind blessings; since the day he introduced his classmate at school to his childhood friend, he knew they were each other's destined half. He was there with them in every chapter of their love story, and to see his two best friends find happiness with each other made him much more than pleased.

And he knew exactly in whose hands his own happiness laid.

His attention went to the ebony-haired woman, who was still speaking with her cousin and his new fiancée. She was genuinely glad for them, but there was something else in her stance that had him both perplexed and captivated, unable to turn away. Her back was perfectly straight, as though a salute, and then there was a shadow in her smile, something akin to the smile she always wore when she was nearing the end of a book—anticipation, that came with a distinct tone of sadness; it was as if she was saying goodbye.

This was the moment he acknowledged the true closeness of the relationship between Natarle and Mwu; he knew their relationship ran much deeper than ordinary cousins'—it had always been obvious in the way they were with each other—but Mwu getting married meant that other things in his life would start to gain more importance than her, and although they would always be cousins, things could never again be as they once were. Such was life, and they both understood it.

Arnold was mesmerized by what he was seeing; it was painfully beautiful, and piteously sad. And there was one thing he was sure of—he would never want to see her look at him with this same smile.

There was a tug at his sleeve, and he broke his attention away from Natarle. He saw it was Stellar standing at his side, watching him with an inquisitive face. "What happened between you and Natarle?" she asked.

She could have been referring to good things, or to bad things, but her voice was simply curious and gave no indication, and Arnold was stumped. "What do you mean?"

"Stellar noticed that the way Natarle looks at you is different now. She looks happier than before, and… hmm, like she feels _safe_. Stellar likes seeing her smile this way. If Natarle is happy, it makes Stellar happy too!"

Her perceptiveness both impressed and pleased Arnold, but there was one other thing that jumped out at him. "What do you mean when you say she feels safe?"

Stella's lips pulled into a thin smile, and Arnold immediately understood that it was a question she won't answer. "Promise Stellar you won't do anything that will make Natarle sad. And promise that you'll never, _ever_ abandon her. Natarle deserves to be happy, and you're the only person who can give her that."

The girl's anxiety was so very uncharacteristic of her that he had a feeling this conversation would end most horribly if he didn't promise her—not that he would have a moment's hesitation in making such a promise. The only thing was, apart from his unanswered question, there seemed to be something else in her words that she was not saying; a veiled hint she was not aware she was giving. He could have asked, but he did not want her to think his love for Natarle came with conditions. He gave a light pat on her head. "Yes, she deserves to be happy, and with me, she will be. You have my word."

o-o-o

Natarle stood in front of her room, the door slightly ajar, and she was guarding it cautiously, not letting Arnold see into the room. He did not know if it had something to do with Murrue's last visit, or if she was simply too shy to let him look inside her most personal space; she was being adorably annoying, and it only made him more curious.

One step at a time, he reminded himself.

"Thank you for walking me back," Natarle said, "you really didn't have to." There was an inkling of criticism in her voice, and he guessed she was probably blaming him for putting her in this—what only _she_ saw as—somewhat awkward situation.

"Oh but I do."

"Why?"

"Because I want to spend every possible moment with you."

She blushed—naturally; he wouldn't have expected anything less—and she twiddled with her fingers, not knowing how to respond.

He touched her warm cheek lightly. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yes." She agreed with a stiff nod.

"Good night, Natarle."

"Good night."

The door closed behind her, and he was already looking forward to tomorrow.

He was going to head back to his own room, which was some distance away, at the far end of the East Wing, and on a different floor too. He mapped out his route in his mind, and decided he would take the stairs first, and then it was one straight path from there. Of course, being able to pass by the library—his favourite place in this house now—was an upside. Maybe he could take a peek too; the library at night was still a beautiful place, and what more, was that with it came some even more beautiful memories.

His foot leapt off the last step of the staircase, and he turned around the corner, just in time to see the shadow coming out of the library. There were only two people who would be sneaking in and out the library at this hour, and the other person was already back in her room—yes, he remembered to count himself—but then, who else could it be? He made a small dash forward, and the shadow stood, frozen in its place, clearly aware that it had been seen. It raised a hand, waving at him slowly and undecidedly, and when Arnold finally approached, he finally saw, with the help of the dim moonlight, that it was Fllay.

She was clutching a rather large book in her arms, and had held it in front of her chest, both arms wrapping around the item protectively, as if she had been caught stealing and had absolutely no intention of surrendering it.

He found it funny that she would give him such a face; the books belonged here in Dominion Hall, which he, as a guest, had no right to disapprove of whatever she did to them anyway. "I hope you've found something nice," he said with a faint smile.

The rigidity in her stance eased. She nodded with a small grin, and joked, "I hope so too, though sometimes I can't decide whether it's better to have interesting or boring books for bedtime reading." She twirled herself around to leave. "Good night, Arnold."

"Good night, Fllay." He waved the girl goodbye, and she disappeared into the end of the corridor.

He would have thought no more of it, except there was something in his mind that would not let it go, and kept nagging at him like the constant jingling sound of a very small bell; one that was not too noticeable until realised you were hearing it, and then suddenly you heard it everywhere you went.

He knew for sure that something was out of place, and he knew, that if he thought hard enough, he would be able to figure out what it was, just that right now he simply hadn't yet. It was as though there was a misplaced puzzle-piece which he had no idea where he left it, and could only wait until it reappeared.

He turned, and stared at the front of the library once again, for a good, long time. And along with the memory of something he once read in the journal he had found, the puzzle-piece reappeared.

_'Fllay does not have the patience for books.'_


	29. 20th January

**20th January**

_It had been such horrible, very horrible two weeks. First it was Inspector Durandal, and then it was Adelaide. The worst we could have as visitors, but with one coming immediately after the other within such a short time span._

_Inspector Durandal's visit was absolutely nerve-wrecking! He came to report on his progress on Muruta's case, which my use of the word 'progress' is really stretching it, because he had essentially nothing new. He came only to offer his sympathies again, and assure us once more that everything within his power is done to locate Muruta. I suppose it's because he is Muruta's friend—a very rare specimen indeed—that he is so devoted to helping us. I guess this is also the same reason he seems exceptionally kind towards Stellar, Muruta's only sibling. Though the same cannot be said for his attitude towards Natarle. I hope I'm not misreading anything, but he has this rather peculiar look when he is watching her. It's the look of someone who's heard rumours or secrets, and is looking for proof. Oh dear, now that I think about it again, I'm starting to feel worried. What could it have been that he was thinking?_

_He asked a question before he left: Why were their parents never informed about Muruta's disappearance. Goodness, Stellar's reaction was heart-breaking. She looked every part an abandoned puppy in a dark, stormy night—helpless, miserable, and afraid—and she explained how she and Muruta had a rocky relationship with their parents, that she didn't want to go back to them, and all those kind of things. Looking back, it really was the correct question to ask—Muruta was an heir; just think of the help his powerful father, however estranged, could give with the right strings pulled—but the Inspector had been distracted. He must have truly believed that Stellar was about to cry; he had instantly closed that topic and did everything he could think of to console her. He's quite a kind soul, but he had misjudged; Stellar is a much stronger girl than that._

_Adelaide was a completely different scenario. Natarle wrote to her after Inspector Durandal's visit; everyone knew what was going to happen, and nobody wanted it to, but she still wrote, knowing full well the trouble that would follow with Adelaide's impending visit. But then, no one would have assumed otherwise; Natarle had made the promise at the very start, and to not keep to a promise was not the kind of person she was. She hated, most wholeheartedly, promises that could not be kept. Sometimes I feel this sense of duty is doing her more harm than good, but this is a part of her, and I know, as much it hurts to see her suffer because of her responsibilities, we can only accept._

_So when Adelaide arrived, the mood of the house dampened like a tempest had assailed the house. I, of course, did not meet with Miss Trouble—ha! A disaster evaded—with good reason though. In the end I stayed with Fllay for the entire duration of her three day visit. It was quite boring, having to hide away because Natarle and Stellar made up the excuse of Fllay being ill—which wasn't entirely untrue—but it was still much better than having to go out and meet with this woman._

_Stellar immediately wrote to Mwu after Adelaide had left, asking him to come to Dominion Hall sooner this summer, and even bring his two friends along if he wished. Her concern is not unfounded; ever since those two had visited, Natarle had been visibly more strained than before. Her nightmares have started again, just like when I first came to this house and everything was still at a state of unrest. It really is quite worrying; back then it took Doctor Clyne two months to help her settle mind and make those nightmares stop. We told her she should talk to Doctor Clyne about this when he comes to do Fllay's regular checkups, but she refuses. We truly hope Mwu replies soon and can give us some sound advice, and please, dear Lord, let him tell us that he will come in the summer and do whatever he can to cheer her up._


	30. The Changeling

**The Changeling**

Fllay did not show up for breakfast the next morning.

Initially Arnold had only supposed she might have overslept; it was not unusual for the girl to be late for breakfast, and every now and then they would see her walk through the doors in a sheepish hunch when they were midway through their meal, slipping into her seat with an apologetic face and an attempt to dodge her sister's disapproving glare. But he had waited for quite some time already, and still the girl hadn't turn up. When he had finally asked for the whereabouts of the girl, he was told that she was ill and needed to stay in her room.

'_How convenient.'_ The notion came into his mind before he even realised he had thought it.

He was wary, but his intuition was begging him to trust it. And he found no reason not to.

He had been assuming from the start that Muruta, the missing one, was the solution to uncovering the secrets of this house—that was his biggest mistake. Muruta was probably an important link, yet he was not the whole answer; Arnold was now as sure of it as he knew the sun rose in the east.

Scenes of certain defining moments flashed across his mind like the flipping pages of a picture book. He hadn't known which ones he should have been looking for, but his intuition decided for him.

The first night, in the drawing room, where Natarle told of her worries that _"they will know"_, and wanted to say something about Fllay, which Mwu reaffirmed that everything will be alright, and they should have faith in the girl.

That day in the garden, when Fllay had confessed to him how home, the very place she grew up in, to her was more like a dream than reality.

Fllay's illness, which no one had ever mentioned until he found her in the garden that night, sleepwalking—was it really that, or was it something else? At first glance, it seemed to make sense of things, but when he gave it more thought, it appeared that such 'illness' does not actually explain anything.

And for a girl who does not have the patience for books, Fllay was much too eager and protective of her find for bedtime reading.

The fleeting impressions struck a discord amongst his well-set perceptions of the girl, and he knew there was something very wrong about her that he had been overlooking all this time. It was as though there were fine threads of fabrication entwined into the reality he was shown, done with a precision that had he been less fortunate with encountering coincidences, he would never have been able to grasp them.

But it was coming undone.

He was nearing the truth, or at least some part of it. He was impatient now, and he needed to think. So he took this short while of solitude in the library, as he waited for Natarle to finish her work in the morning room, to give his full attention to the deciphering of this mystery.

He let his mind work as it pleased, pulling together unkempt threads of stray memories and setting off quick debates over unanswered questions. As focused as he was, there was no ignoring of the chirping sounds the pair of sparrows on the windowsill made, and it had effectively distracted him for a brief second. He looked out the window, and he saw something else, but it took his preoccupied mind a moment to notice its irregularity.

It was that particular room in the West Wing, with those deep red curtains, which he had once teased Natarle for staring at it all the time—the curtains, usually closed, were now wide open.

o-o-o

The mystery was still unsolved by tea time. Of course, a mystery as complex as this required more time and thought than what can be offered by half a days' time, so he decided to resume after a relaxing break with his friends. Well, as relaxing as it could be with Adelaide's presence.

Adelaide was quickly bored by their company—as always—and had gotten up to leave, and at the precise moment when she was only one step away from her exit, they all heard the clicking sound of a doorknob being turned, startling the woman and sending her back by two steps with a small shriek.

The door opened, and standing there, with tears of confused anger trickling down her pale face, was the sickly redhead who had been absent all morning. Was it because she was ill, or that she was crying, that Arnold felt there was something very different about her right now?

"Fllay?" The girl's dark-haired sister was already by her side within a heartbeat. "Fllay, why are you here? Where's Abby?"

Adelaide made an exaggerated huff of air to emphasise her shock. "Oh for goodness' sake! Why did you-"

"Be quiet!" Natarle yelled, not letting Adelaide finish voicing her complaint, nor did she bother to show any bit of shame for such a display of rudeness towards a guest. It was very unlike her, but for some strange reason that Arnold could not explain, it felt like the most natural response to be expected. Fllay had her complete attention, and nothing else mattered to her now.

The girl grabbed her sister's arms and closed the distance between them, looking up towards her with an odd intensity as though it had been years since she had last saw this face.

"Fllay?" Natarle asked again. Even within the brevity of the one word she spoke, the quivering of her voice was not missed. She was anxious—for her sister? _Of_ her sister?

"Why?" The girl's grasp became stronger, and she was putting so much strain onto Natarle that made her wince in pain, but the girl refused to let go. "Why did you let me fall? Why did you not catch me?"

Was she hurt? When did she fall? Where? If the girl was hurt, she might be requiring immediate care, but Arnold looked around and deduced that there was no urgency in the situation. Murrue was the only other person as worried as he was; Mwu and Stellar looked more distressed than panicked, but made no suggestion to take any sort of action.

Arnold looked at Murrue, who in return gave a knowing nod to express her agreement that they would best do nothing. The last person in the room, however, was not as observant, nor was she willing to wait for an answer to be given to her. Looking offended by being completely ignored, Adelaide demanded, "Can someone tell me what is happening here?"

"Adelaide," Mwu warned impatiently as he made his way towards the sisters, "you heard it the first time. Be quiet."

The woman could have started a fight right there, but the red-haired girl had not noticed the fluctuations in the surrounding atmosphere; her eyes saw only what she wanted to, and she was already looking at her.

"How could you do this to me? I'm your sister! I'm _irreplaceable_!"

Arnold had not missed the added weight put onto that particular word; it had a meaning, not just something she had thrown into the mix of allegations against Natarle. Whatever meaning it held, Arnold didn't know, but Natarle clearly did.

"It's not what you think, Fllay."

"How could you?"

"Please, Fllay, I am sorry. But you must let me explain-"

"Explain what? There's nothing that can justify what you have done!"

"But it's not- You don't know…" Natarle's voice was trembling; she truly was afraid. "You need to trust me, I really didn't mean it. _Please_ don't-"

"That's enough." They were all too concentrated on the argument between the two young women that none of them had noticed Mwu moving in until he spoke up. He pulled Fllay away from Natarle and picked the young girl up into his arms, ignoring her protests and a feeble struggle to be let loose. "Clearly you are not feeling well enough to be out here, Fllay, and I'm bringing you back upstairs. Natarle, don't come."

With a tired nod and utter defeat showing in her stance, Natarle watched on helplessly as Mwu carried her sister out of the room. She would probably have appreciated a quiet moment just to recompose herself, but Adelaide was not considerate enough a person and hadn't wasted a minute to get the answer to her earlier question. She forcibly pulled Natarle around by her arm and asked again, "What was that commotion about?"

It looked like it had hurt, but Natarle only pulled lightly to free herself from Adelaide's brutal hold. "My sister is not well. She is a troubled soul, and she will sometimes have very bad nightmares, and then wake up not being able to differentiate between dreams and reality. If she is agitated, it will worsen her condition, so I request that you will not trouble her. Don't bother asking anything else, because those are our private matters, and you won't get an answer from anyone. Not me, not Mwu, not Stellar, and certainly not the servants."

Dissatisfaction displayed across Adelaide's face, and Arnold suspected she was not entirely convinced by the explanation given. But she knew better that to pester for something she had been so determinedly refused, and so, luckily for Natarle, she left without giving further hassle.

Natarle might have dismissed Adelaide's queries with such simple effort, but Arnold was certain he would not suffer the same fate. After all, he knew much, much more than what Adelaide did, and this little commotion had just given him the last clue to pull all his knowledge together into a rather sound conclusion.


	31. 24th February

**24th February**

_Mwu wrote back to let us know he'll be here sooner this summer, which is great news, but what's even better is that he will be bringing friends, just as we suggested! He had immediately sent invitations to his two best friends after receiving our letter—he mentioned their names were Arnold and Murrue—and they had agreed to come. It's going to be such a delightful summer, and Stellar and I already getting quite excited about it!_

_What is left now is to tell Natarle about the plans we've made without her consent. I wonder how she'll take the news. Stellar told me not to worry about it, that she will be the one to break the news to Natarle, and she'll be able to handle it herself. But I can see that Stellar is actually quite nervous about having to do so, as there is a high chance that Natarle will get very angry about this arrangement. Of course, we both know that Natarle can never truly be angry at Stellar, but still, imagine her reaction when she hears about it! Though whatever her response will be, the invitations have been sent and replies received, and there's nothing Natarle can do to alter the decisions made now._

_But then now there's something else that's worrying me quite a bit. Although Arnold and Murrue have never met Fllay, Mwu must have told them about her before. What will they think of her when they arrive to meet the 'Fllay' they get to see in person?_

_I cross my fingers and wish with all my heart that everything will go well._

* * *

**Author's note**

Ha, sorry, another super short chapter… I promise I'll try to update the next one asap to make up for it. And just so you know, one of the big secrets will be revealed in the next chapter. ;)


	32. Behind the Crimson Curtains

**Behind the Crimson Curtains**

The pieces came together and fitted into a perfect picture.

He found answers to questions that answered questions, and the mystery unravelled. It all made sense now.

The contradictions in everything he knew about Fllay.

The story hidden within the cryptic writings of the journal.

Who Fllay was.

Who 'M.H.' was.

He had the answer; all he needed now was someone to confirm for him that it was the correct one.

o-o-o

Mwu hadn't come back to them after bringing Fllay back to her room, and Natarle had disappeared from his watch within the short instant when Stellar had distracted him with a question so pointless that he could not even recall now—he was sure she had done it deliberately to give Natarle the chance to sneak away—and he ended up spending almost an hours' time trying to relocate her.

Arnold had searched almost every room he could think of. He searched the morning room, where they all spent their time together after breakfast. He searched the study, where Natarle now took care of the household businesses daily in order to let them use the morning room. He searched the small parlour, where Stellar once mentioned they would use when there were no guests. He searched the gallery, where he had only visited once, and also the second dining room, which he did not even know existed prior this hunt. He was considering, when he reached the last unexplored corridor, to venture into the forbidden West Wing should he find nothing here either—there was still that chamber with the red curtains he needed to check on. But when he arrived at the set of doors at the end of the hallway, seeing the light from inside the room leak through the slit underneath the door, he knew he had come to the right place.

Out of common courtesy, he knocked, but did not wait long enough for a reply before entering. The occupants greeted him with shocked expressions—Natarle looked at him as though he had walked in on her committing a crime, and Mwu regarded him with a strange astonishment, as though he had been expecting him to show up, but not so soon.

"Why are you here?" Natarle asked.

"I've been looking everywhere for you two. I came for answers about what happened this afternoon. Actually, I think I have them, I just need someone to tell me if I've got them right."

Immediately Natarle turned towards Mwu with a chiding glare and was ready to say something, but he calmly held a finger against her lips, effectively stopping her speech. "I know; you're going to say this is what you've been warning me about from the start. But let's see how much he's figured out first." He turned to Arnold with a face that looked like he wanted him to have the right answer, yet at the same time was anxious what circumstances it would bring. "Arnold, do tell us what you've discovered."

Arnold thought for a moment, not quite sure how to begin. Then slowly and carefully, he started, "The girl that came in during tea," he took another pause; he needed to be sure of every single word that left his lips. "She's the real Fllay, isn't she? The other girl that's been with us all along is only an imposter to fill her place."

Natarle gasped a sound of both approval and disbelief—the confirmation that he needed—and immediately following was Mwu's low growl; it was the typical noise he would make when he could not decide whether he was impressed or annoyed. "I've always known if anyone were to find out about it, that person would be you," he said, scuffling his hair in a slightly irritated manner. "You're too clever to not notice something was wrong about it; I just never thought you'd find out so soon."

She was almost furious when she heard his confession. "Then why did you bring him here if you knew for sure he would find out?"

"Natarle, it doesn't have to be a bad thing. Think about it; were you going to lock yourself away for the rest of your life and never meet anyone new from the outside world just so that you wouldn't risk this secret being exposed? All this time you spent with him and Murrue, wasn't it worth the risk?"

"Those are two completely separate matters! And don't justify the means with the end! Now he _knows_. What if he-"

She stopped. Whatever she wanted to accuse him of, she already knew she had no grounds, and she simply could not say it out loud just for the sake of the argument—especially when he had so far only proven himself to be nothing less than the trustworthy, considerate man she had expected him to be. They had lied to him, but this was after all only a lie—what an insignificant misdoing it was compared to the _other_ secret they hid—and he was not going to do them any harm just because he had learnt the truth about Fllay.

What she truly feared was him finding out their other secret.

Her atrocity.

Mwu groaned in a way that indicated his confusion. "Natarle, you're not making any sense. Before Arnold came in, you were saying I should go and explain to Murrue about what happened when she hadn't even asked. And now here he is, and it's clear that he's fully aware of what's going on, yet you still hesitate to give him an explanation. Why are you being so contradictory?"

Because he was different from the rest of them.

He still had the chance to walk away, and she did not want to take that away from him. He stood at the furthest, amongst all of them, from the core of the secret; he was not bound by it like she was, or Mwu, or Stellar and Fllay were; he was not going to be bound by it, like the newly-engaged Murrue was. But if she let him inside their circle, he would be pulled in closer and closer, and eventually when he reached the crux, he would be ruined by the truth—if not he, then, certainly, _she_.

He was staring at her; that gullible yet unyielding face, like a stubborn child who could not understand what he had done wrong to warrant the punishment given to him, demanding her justification.

Mwu gave a pensive sigh that returned Natarle's attention to him. His gaze was warm and honest, accompanied by a small upturn of the corner of his lips, and she remembered the times before when she was more acquainted with this smile; times when he was her sole source of advice—when she was still a naïve girl, and he was worldly and mature and clever, one of the wisest people she had ever known; after Papa and Mama, and also Father, of course, but by then they were all gone. But she knew whenever she saw this face, she would naturally believe anything he had to say that followed. Such as now. "My dearest cousin, you know that I would never do anything that would put you in the way of harm, and I say this because I genuinely think this is the best way forward: Tell Arnold the truth. You can trust him, just as I do."

To cement his advice, he gave Arnold a nod, motioning him to take over his place, and quickly slipped past him and exited the room, leaving behind for Natarle a decision to make, and his determinedly inquisitive friend, waiting.

Natarle had wanted to yell at Mwu for putting her in this place and plead for him to stay with her, both at once, but stopped herself from doing either at the fear of appearing ridiculous. She bit on her lip and stole a discreet glance at Arnold, mulling over Mwu's words that lacked a great deal of clarification. How was this going to be helpful?

Arnold hadn't right out demand for an answer; she could not decide whether she should be glad that he was giving her time to prepare herself, or be nervous that he might be suspecting other things. He paced slowly towards her, little by little, his steps careful and soft as though the floor might collapse underneath him if she willed. And then when he was close enough to hold her hand and she didn't pull away, he finally let a tentative smile—one that, at a closer look, seemed more like a frown, and she realised the relief in his eyes had not been shed of all worry yet.

She knew an explanation was due, but he spoke first. "If you want to put my devotion to you to trial, now is the time."

He spoke as though whatever she could give as a challenge, he would still effortlessly and indisputably overcome it; as though anything she were to do in attempt to prove him unworthy would be futile. As though they could get over with all her problems now, for once and for all, and live a happily-ever-after.

How could he be so sure of his love for her when he knew only a fraction of the whole truth? How could he be certain that their future together would be a happy ending? How did he know there was even a definite future for them?

And why, God help her, does he make those dreams forbidden to her seem like the sweetest temptation on earth?

She had wanted so very much to walk into his embrace, right there, right then, and forget that the rest of world existed, but she chose to only hold onto his hand. Close enough, yet still far, and reality was still within reach. "I don't want to put your devotion to trial."

She didn't, because it was the best for both of them. She needed to keep his options open; she wanted him to have the freedom to leave her when he finally understood the monster she was—a wicked, damaged person he would detest to spend the rest of his life with. She needed time, to live this moment with him, while he still believed that nothing could stop him from loving her. But what most, was simply that she was not ready for the answer—if his answer was that they were to end here.

He had come this far, only a few steps away from the whole truth. She would tell him the full story sometime, if he didn't get to it sooner than she did. But now, he deserved an explanation; at least for the parts he had already figured out.

"The room with the red curtains—the one in the West Wing. You asked me in the library what there is behind those red curtains."

For a second he looked a bit lost in the quick shift of topic, but the small frown immediately changed into an acknowledging tilt of his head as indication that he had caught up with her.

"It was Fllay behind those curtains. That was Fllay's room."

"The real one?"

She nodded. "We had a quarrel. Do you remember the day I told you about my Papa's favourite book, and you asked if my _father_ had other recommendations? For me, Papa and Father are two different people; for Fllay, they are the same."

His eyes widened in disbelieving puzzlement, and then settled into comprehension. "What you mean is: You and Fllay are half-sisters?"

"Yes. She didn't know that all along, until just before the incident. That was why we fought. And then she fell down the stairs. She wouldn't wake up; not dead, though not alive either. There was nothing I could do, except wait. Until three weeks ago, she woke up."

"Was it that day when you left the library in haste? Was that what Miri told you then, that Fllay had woken up?"

"Yes, that was the day; you remember well. I was ecstatic; every single day since that accident I had been hoping for her to come back to me, but when she did, things turned out different to what I had expected. At first she was simply needed time to get used to being awake; she could hardly stay conscious for more than a few hours, and she had great difficulty getting out of bed. She gradually made progress, but then she was very confused—still is—particularly with the things that happened during her slumber, and also with you and Murrue's presence, and Adelaide's as well. She is confused, and for that reason, she is angry and impatient and adamant. Nothing is what it had once been; for her, it's like she had woken up to a different world."

"That explains what happened earlier today then," Arnold thought aloud as he attempted to make sense of the situation. "Although she's the real Fllay, she's not quite the person she should be."

Natarle nodded in confirmation. "We had wanted to keep her in her room until she was much better—more normal, more like the girl she once was—and preferably after you all had left, but she refuses to stay hidden away anymore. She said we don't have the right to lock her up because she hadn't done anything wrong, which is true, and Mwu thinks she might make less trouble if we let her enjoy a bit more freedom. So that is what has been decided. We knew there were risks, but what happened today simply caught us by surprise. Thank goodness Mwu reacted quickly enough."

"And the other girl who was with us all along?"

"She'll be staying in that room now, instead of Fllay. The girl's name is Meyrin Hawke. She is Lunamaria's younger sister. It was Lunamaria who suggested Meyrin to pretend to be Fllay; she was always saying that her younger sister looked almost identical to Fllay, and when we finally met the girl, we knew she was the person we needed."

"Why did you need someone to fill Fllay's place? Why go through all the trouble and not just let people know what had happened?"

"We couldn't. It's complicated, but there are reasons why Fllay's condition must be kept a secret, and that was the best solution we had then."

Everything was still for a long moment; Arnold had not made a single sound as he concentrated on processing all the information given to him, and Natarle simply watched him in silence. She had expected him to show confusion or shock, and even disdain at her for getting into a fight with Fllay that resulted in the girl's condition.

But he didn't.

He was not one bit of confused or shocked; with his brilliant mind, he had probably guessed some part of it, and understood the rest with much ease.

Nor did he show the tiniest bit of disdain; he had such a forgiving heart. He did frown a little, but it was sympathy shown between those creased brows as he pulled her hand up and lightly brushed her knuckles against his lips, whispering against them a soft apology, "I'm sorry that it had happened."

He made it sound like it was his fault that she had to go through the pain, that he had not done anything to help, all because he had come into her life too late. Had he been here then, everything would have turned out differently, because he would never have let any harm be done to her.

There was a sudden relaxing of the dull, hard clench inside her chest—a tension within her that she had not noticed until it began dissolving into nothingness, but as it fizzled away, she wondered why she never was aware of it, because somehow it felt like it had been there within her for as long as she had lived. And then, replacing that emptied spot, was a very particular sense of secureness that she had never experienced before. It was as though for the first time in her life she could feel the solid ground beneath her feet; as though she was a ship adrift in the vast oceans, unaware of being lost until he became her anchor and tied her to safe lands.

It was the most wonderful feeling. So incredibly wonderful, that she wished she had never felt it, because when the time came for her to say her farewells, she would only be more aware of the pain she had not known of before now.

And he was still looking at her as though that day would never come.

She drew her hand away carefully; he was disappointed, but he decided not to insist and risk upsetting her more. He was being so delicate with her that it should be considered a sin to ever betray this kindness—she probably was going to hell for this then, because it was the inevitable.

Silence fell between them for a while, until he spoke again, "Those reasons you mentioned; can you tell me what they are?"

She considered, and then shook her head gently. "Not now. Sometime soon, but not now."

"Is there more to this secret you've been keeping?"

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"Not now."

He acknowledged with a small nod, already expecting this answer before it was given. He lowered his head and huffed lightly, which gave her an odd impression that he was gathering his courage for his next question. It came after a short, clumsy pause.

"Does it have anything to do with Muruta?"

Oh, it had _everything_ to do with him.

She might have unconsciously pulled a face in reaction to the name, for he hadn't waited to be given an answer, simply stating that he understood, and apologised for having asked.

"I know you are waiting for the right time," he said with a softly encouraging smile. "Whenever you are ready, so am I."

So this was what Mwu was talking about when he asked her to trust Arnold. Maybe he was right.

She hated promises that could not be kept, and she knew if she were to save herself from more heartbreak, she should simply stop investing hope in any of them. But this man standing in front of her had made it impossible for her to stop hoping, and he had promised her everything she wanted without the rituality of an actual promise.

And she hoped, even if she had to give up realising every single other promise for the rest of her life, she could have this promise fulfilled.


	33. 2nd March

**2nd March**

_I never understood why Natarle is willing to do the things she is doing. The sacrifices she has made for Fllay, in my opinion, are way too harsh for a young woman as her to bear. It is, in fact, too harsh for _any_ woman to bear. It isn't fair. Particularly not when the beneficiary doesn't have even the slightest idea how blessed she is._

_Natarle says it is part of the blessing that she doesn't know; I say it is part of Natarle's selflessness that she doesn't._

_She says I might not understand this feeling—a maternal-like instinct—because I am the younger sibling. And that I am lucky to still have a complete family. I remember when we were still very little, and there was one time when we were too lost in our chasing game that we forgot our surroundings and broke the milk jar on the table, the milk inside all spilt. Papee, of course, was furious at us, but my dear sister stepped up and took all the scolding herself. Looking back now it wasn't that much of a tragedy our little selves thought it was back then, but I remember I was so touched by her bravery. When I asked her why she did it, she said it's because it is the elder sister's responsibility to protect the younger one. I suppose this is the protective instinct Natarle is talking about. _

_I must have had an awfully critical look on my face when I spoke my opinions, because Natarle insists I have misunderstood her sister, and it seems to me that she is very afraid that I will think ill of Fllay. She told me the story about the bear—that very adorable one that now sits on the top of her bedside table. She told me how Fllay had known she was afraid to ask her father to buy that bear for her, and had asked him to buy it for herself instead, and then leaving it in her room for Natarle to 'discover'. I must admit that was a very sweet gesture for a five-year-old to make. So sweet and kind, that it had earned herself Natarle's eternal devotion. Time has passed, and things have changed, yet Natarle's dedication has never faltered; Fllay is very a fortunate girl to have such a loyal sister. But Natarle still believes she is the more fortunate one—if it weren't for Fllay, she'd have no family left, and probably not even a place in this house. After everything that she had lost in the mere nineteen years of her life, Fllay is all she has left; her _"one, greatest treasure"_._

_It is such a difficult life they live; it were the consequences of consequences that had brought them onto this ill-fated path, and I do agree with everyone else that the blame cannot be put on any one individual. I wish that Natarle will be able to see this for herself, and will someday finally realise that the fault was never hers._


	34. A Midnight Conversation

**A Midnight Conversation**

He had not seen Meyrin since that night outside the library.

It took a few days for 'Fllay' to recover from the supposed 'illness' they used as an excuse for her absence, and when the girl returned, the Fllay he had known had already disappeared.

The 'illness'; what a useful explanation that nuanced all ambiguities, like a sturdy fort that provided protection when questions were raised by Adelaide—ominous questions, such as why had this girl suddenly become so irritable, why does she not remember things that happened only days ago, and why her attitude towards people, particularly her own sister, had changed so drastically within such a short time.

Arnold did not know what to make of this new girl. Sure enough, her vivacity and sweetness—the essence of her that Meyrin had tried to imitate—they were still there, if not a little dampened, but she could be a terribly difficult person when she chose to, which she often did, and Arnold found it hard to believe that this petulant girl was the same person her family had loved dearly. Natarle had blamed it on her insecurities of waking to unfamiliar surroundings after a nine-month sleep. Sometimes it seemed to make perfect sense, like the times when she sat in the corner, alone and melancholic, unwilling to talk with anyone but Lunamaria; or times when she threw a fit when people talked about things she had no knowledge of, and then Stellar would comfort her and explain every detail with utmost precision, which she would be satisfied with the answer, and her interest in the topic would flare up as though she had been there too when it happened.

Then there were other times when Arnold would wonder if the girl had simply changed, and was no longer the same Fllay that Meyrin had spent all this time impersonating.

It was so very strange; conflicting, and confusing—to discover what he had already become so familiar with was in fact pretence, but when truth and reality finally merged together again from their divergent paths, it felt only more surreal than the lie he lived through.

And it was even ten-fold more implausible when it came to anything that concerned her sister—the very same sister that was supposedly her favourite person in the whole world.

She could say the cruellest words, or she could be completely apathetic; whatever she did was done with the intention to hurt, with only one person on the receiving end.

This must be some kind of revenge, and clearly it was yielding the desired results.

This had put Natarle in a state worse than any other Arnold ever saw her in. He had seen her exhausted, irritable, anxious, or melancholic, and although each of these was sad enough a sight, they were at least genuine emotions, some kind of response from her. But now, there was nothing.

The strength that was always effortlessly in her would vanish wherever Fllay was involved, and she would let Fllay deliver punishment in any way she saw fit without even attempting the slightest bit of resistance.

Arnold could already hate Fllay for hurting Natarle this way—for having such power over her in the first place, and for utilizing this power so relentlessly, mercilessly, as if she would only ever stop at the moment she had finally run Natarle's heart into the ground.

And it was becoming unbearable—for both of them.

For Natarle, because she had become her sister's most hated enemy, and she believed that she truly deserved it, yet it was exactly such belief that made it agonisingly painful.

For Arnold himself, because he, on the contrary, knew from the bottom of his heart that Natarle could never have done anything to deserve this, yet there was no way for him to convince her otherwise.

Because Fllay was the problem, and she was also the sole solution.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

He could not sleep. His endless tossing and turning in bed did nothing to aid his sleep, instead only making him more awake than he already was.

Frustration, clearly, was what was keeping him up.

He was a pragmatic man. If he had problems, he would solve them. If they could not be straightforwardly solved, he would change the circumstances and rid of the obstructions until everything was within his control. Defeat was not something he would easily accept.

Yet right now, this issue posed by Fllay was a prime example of those challenges he would probably not be able to overcome.

And recently he has been facing situations like these much too often—perhaps more than all the occasions throughout his twenty-odd years of life put together—all because of this one woman.

These were her problems, really, but that was exactly why they were his too.

He growled and tossed aside his blanket, and slid out of bed. The frustration was making the heat of the summer night even more unbearable, and he resigned to the fact that he would not be able to get any sleep like this. Maybe he should go somewhere cooler, where he could sit a while to calm himself.

The library was the first place that came to mind.

o-o-o

He had not expected to find anyone here at this time of the night—unlike last time when he waited deliberately for over two hours in order to catch hold of the woman who had been doing everything she could to avoid him. But to his surprise, here snuggled up in the sofa in front of the unlit fireplace, with her lantern still alight and sitting on top of the side table, was the young redhead, asleep in her seat with an open book on her lap.

He smiled a little at this scene, deciding that he in fact quite missed this girl. His hand hovered hesitatingly above her shoulder before lightly patting on it, waking her from her light slumber.

"Hmm?" She opened her eyes slowly, squinting at first to adjust to the dim lighting, and then immediately widening when she recognised the person in front of her. "Arnold!"

"Hush, you'll wake the whole house," Arnold teased.

Meyrin yawned as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "What time is it? Oh dear, is it nearly dawn?" She suddenly started to panic. "I must leave then, before anyone else sees me!"

"Calm down," Arnold laughed lightly, "It's still a long while till morning. Though if you're so tired, why don't you go back to your room to rest?"

The girl smiled sheepishly. "I hadn't meant to fall asleep, but the sofa's very comfortable, and the room is dark, and, well, I was asleep before I even realised it." She saw that he raised an inquisitive eyebrow, so she explained a little further, "I know you might find me silly, but I can only come out during night time when everyone else is sleeping, and even so I must be very careful not to be seen. I really miss coming here, and there are still so many books that I want to read, so I suppose spending the night here is the most straightforward answer to my problem."

The girl spoke cheerily, but Arnold knew it was not easy for her—her use had been expended, and now she was only a ghost of the house; a shadow of her host that was being disregarded; a somebody that was nobody.

"I'm sorry that this is happening to you," Arnold said.

"Please don't be," she smiled in return for his consolation, "the moment I accepted this role, I knew this day would come. It's not for long anyway; I only have to be here till Fllay's fully ready to reassume her identity. Probably by the time Adelaide leaves, I can go home too."

"That's good to hear."

She shrugged carelessly; Arnold couldn't tell from her expression whether or not did she look forward to the moment she spoke of. He was going to ask more, but she spoke first. "So, enough about me. What are _you_ doing here at this hour, Arnold?" Her eyes narrowed with a mischievous glint, "Don't tell me it's because of Natarle; if you've invited her over for a midnight date, she's not here."

He raised an eyebrow at Meyrin's unabashed teasing, which drew a girlish giggle from her. "It's an excellent idea, I should remember to plan for one sometime, but that's not why I came. Though, I must admit, it is actually because of her that I'm here."

"Oh? How?"

Arnold looked away with an impatient huff of air, considering. "I couldn't sleep. She… she's very upset, because of what's happening between Fllay and her, but there's nothing I can do to help her. I never thought there would come a day I'd feel this way, let alone say it out loud, but right now I'm feeling pretty useless."

The red-haired girl smiled; it was a smile that was one part sorry for him, one part thankful. "When it comes to her, I assure you that you're not the only one who feels this way. She keep things to herself—all her responsibilities, worries, and sadness—as though she must have the strength to carry the world on her back. We've all tried to convince her that she can share her troubles with us, and unfortunately, we've all failed. I'm not saying she doesn't trust us; we know she does, but we feel that for some reason she's just afraid of letting people get too close to her, as if something bad will happen if she does. Perhaps it is to protect us; perhaps it's to protect herself."

Arnold's heavy sign of frustration was heard, so in hopes to reassure him, she continued with a more optimistic tone, "Though I must say, you're doing much better than the rest of us."

Her words raised his interest, and he seemed to sit up just a little straighter, looking rather encouraged. She looked him straight into the eyes with sincerity. "She's changed, and it's because of you. You are important to her. You don't have to do anything; just be there with her, for her."

Arnold chuckled knowingly, remembering a previous encounter with a certain blonde girl. "You and Stellar say the exact same thing."

"Well, I suppose that's because we both wish to see her happy, and we put our hopes in you making it happen."

He smiled with gratitude. "She is lucky to have you and Stellar care so deeply about her; you must have grown very close to her in the time you spent here. Tell me more about it, won't you?"

Meyrin nodded, and even seemed a bit eager as she began recounting to him the more interesting stories she had when she was Fllay Allster. There was plenty she could tell him, and before they knew it, a few delightful hours had already passed, when Arnold finally noticed that he was tired to the point that he could not stop his yawning. Meyrin giggled at him, and he gave a helpless shrug. "I believe it is bed time for me now. I should be going. Thank you for the wonderful time."

The girl waved him goodbye. "Good night, Arnold."

"Good night, Meyrin."

He reached the door, and his hand was already on the handle, ready to make his exit, when he suddenly remembered something. He turned his head around to look at the girl. "By the way, I hope I'll see you again sometime soon. I'll need to return your journal to you when I get the chance."


	35. Lunar Eclipse

**Lunar Eclipse**

Natarle seemed to be dealing with her sister in a completely different way now. She would avoid entering Fllay's circumference unless necessary, such as meal times, so as to prevent agitating the girl and spark off her temper. She distanced herself particularly from Stellar and Mwu, leaving the two of them to keep Fllay company. It was not exactly an ideal way to handle the problem, but with Adelaide's presence within the house they had to be very careful, therefore they all agreed that whatever that needed to be done should be held off till after her departure. So now, all the extra time she has which she would usually be spending with everyone else, she spends with Arnold alone.

He does not know which happened first that resulted in this arrangement: whether he had taken up the role as her companion, to stay with her at all times and ward off desolation, and she had accepted, or she had actively sought him out, to be by his side—to _have him_ by her side—when she needed comfort most. Either way, he was content.

It had been a few days after that night seeing Meyrin in the library, and they were all in the drawing room, having just finished dinner. Arnold sat in the sofa next to Natarle, wondering to himself when he would be able to see the girl again while watching Stellar describe animatedly to the young woman about a rabbit they saw in the garden earlier that day. The golden-haired girl was very excited—almost ecstatic—even though judging from her narration it was hardly a particularly thrilling event, and Arnold had a feeling it was less because of the rabbit in question, but more because she finally had a chance to be with Natarle; Fllay was keeping Stellar close to herself, and these days the blonde girl only got to see Natarle as much as Fllay would see her.

Stellar was only in the middle of recounting her afternoon when a loud, accusing voice was heard, "Stellar, I thought you were going to show me the butterfly you caught in the garden last time?"

Stunned by the interruption, Stellar turned to the person who called for her. "Yes, Fllay, but Stellar is telling Natarle about the-"

"I want to see it now!"

Finding that she had caught herself in a tricky situation, Stellar could not figure whether refusing Fllay or deserting Natarle was the less unfavourable option. She immediately turned to the quickest possible help nearby—Arnold, who was sitting just two seats away from her—hoping to get some sort of advice, but before he was even ready to react she felt herself being pulled upwards by her arm.

"We go now," Fllay commanded, a scowl of disgust showing briefly when she noticed that Stellar was actually holding onto Natarle's hand, rather unwilling to leave the woman. She dragged the girl with her, ignoring her small, painful cry as she struggled to keep up with her in leaving the room.

Natarle had not protested the slightest bit; in fact, she had not even looked up when Stellar was taken away. She imply sat in her place, staring down at her own hands regretfully, held one—the one that Stellar held and let go of—in the other, and Arnold needn't her say it out to know that she was blaming herself for Fllay's wrath, and for dragging Stellar into it.

The room was silent; even Mwu and Murrue had become quiet, looking their way and pondering whether they should do something. Arnold reached his hand over and gently laid it on top of Natarle's. She turned to look at him, managing a tight smile. "I'm fine, Arnold."

But she wasn't.

Her voice was shaking, her lips pursed, and her dark amethyst eyes flitted away a second too soon. She was such a terrible liar; so utterly awful, that it pains him to hear those words, because there was no room for doubt that she was certainly _not_ fine. And she still made the effort to lie, for his sake.

"I'm a bit tired. I think I should go to back to my room now." She stood up even before she had finished her words, and had hurried out of the drawing room without bidding anyone else good night.

Mwu gestured for him to go after her, an unnecessary deed, he conceded; Arnold need not be told what he already knew he had to do. He hadn't even looked over to Mwu's direction, and was already out of the room mid-process of Mwu pointing towards the door.

It was night and the corridors were dark, and he managed to catch the outline of her against the shadows, thanks to the full moon outside the windows. He raced up until he was four or five steps behind her, and then he slowed down, keeping this pace as he trailed after her.

She knew he was following her; he made sure of it, allowing his footsteps to drag a little against the carpeted floor, making a scratching sound with each step he took. She walked slowly, and even slower when she realised he was behind her; perhaps she was debating between options of what to do with his undisguised pursuance.

She finally came to a stop. She was still, refusing to turn around even though she acknowledged his presence. "I'm fine, Arnold," she said, her voice ragged at the edges, rendering it less convincing than she had intended. "You don't have to come with me."

He took a few steps forward to close the space between them. "Natarle, let me be here for you."

"I'm fine, really." Her shoulders pulled together, and she dipped her head lower, the elegant swan-like curve of her neck exposing the flawless pale skin along the nape of her neck, down the back of her shoulders, against the darker shades of her clothes. She stood like an abandoned marionette in a deserted theatre, waiting in the endless desolation for her owner to come back and retrieve her.

She was the only person he knew who could translate solitary into such a tragically beautiful sight.

It was so tantalizing—it made him want to hold her and kiss her, to take away her pain and make her forget her troubles, to leave his mark on her and declare her his, and be the only person in the world that matters to her. This way, she would never be hurt again.

She was trembling a little, as though she was fighting something within herself. He was not entirely sure what he should do next, but his impulse took over; he raised his hand, brushing the back of his fingers lightly against her upper spine, as he would have done were he calming a nervous kitten.

The sudden jolt to pull herself away told him he had probably frightened her instead.

She spun around, her eyes disbelieving, and he heard the low whisper of a name.

"Muruta-?"

"Muruta?" Arnold repeated after her. Why, in a situation like this, must his name come up?

"I'm sorry, for a moment I thought it was-…" She unconsciously raised a hand to brush at the ends of her short hair, as though remembering something that was long forgotten. Her eyes were moist, and she was trying her best not to cry. "That was something he used to do…"

He fought the urge to yell and hit something, instead clenching his hands in fists to rein his raging emotions. She was always strong, never allowing her vulnerabilities show easily, yet the first time ever she initiatively mentions this man, she lets her emotional barricades come crumbling down into pieces for him. It felt to Arnold like he had lost another battle, and he was starting to fear—no matter how much he does to earn her love, and how much of her love she is willing to give him, he would still never win that place in her heart. "After all this time, you're still waiting for his return?"

She bit on her bottom lip, and her eyes fell, pushing a droplet out from the corner of her eye; as much as she was unwilling to admit being overwhelmed by her own emotions, she had not bothered to wipe it away—her expression told clearly of defeat, a submission to fate. She breathed a painful sigh. "Even if I spend the rest of my life waiting, he won't-"

He would not let her finish whatever she had to say.

He did not want to hear it; he did not want to hear anything more about that man from her, so he stopped her the only way he knew how: a kiss—a passionate, uncompromising kiss—something only he could give her, here and now, and that man could do nothing to interfere.

She was likely still trying to process what had happened, why she never heard the last few words she wanted to say come out of her mouth—this was the sole explanation he could think of when he realised she hadn't put up any resistance; she had, in fact, hardly even reacted to the situation, allowing him to freely claim herself as his impetuosity desired.

It was till after a long moment that his persistence elicited some kind of response from her; she put her hand on the sleeve of his arm, tugging lightly—not at all a refusal, but more like she needed to hold a part of him to confirm that this was him, and not someone else. And then, as though it was the most natural thing to follow, he felt her warm tears against his face.

He pulled apart slowly, letting go of her. She was taking short, small gasps of air—like hiccups—trying to regulate her breathing after a desperate lack of air resulting from both the kiss and her own crying.

He had wanted to comfort her, but he simply didn't know how, as though the skill could be forgotten; he was too mesmerized by her. The tears that fell down her cheeks left behind a trail of dampness, glittering like stardust, and with her ivory skin bathed in the moonlight it gave an ethereal glow, the edge of her silhouette blending into the light as if she would fade away within a blink of the eye. She was looking confusedly at him, those amethyst orbs full of mixed emotions that judging by the look on her face, even she could not decipher.

It was breath-taking, yet heart-breaking.

He wiped away the tears from her face and pulled her into his embrace. "I'm sorry."

She breathed a few slow, deep breaths, and spoke slowly, "Don't be, it's not your fault." Then, as though her breakdown just now were all his imagination, her usual poise returned, the tension no longer visible in her cool amethyst eyes, and she pushed herself away from him. "I'm tired. I want to go back to my room."

He nodded, and walked her back. But she hadn't spoken another word to him, except for the soft goodnight before she closed her door.

o-o-o

Arnold decided to try his luck and see if he could find Meyrin in the library tonight. He was sure he would not be getting much sleep anyway, with the words Natarle spoke resonating in his mind, and the heartrending image of the tearful woman still haunting him.

He remembered to bring the journal with him, and knocked lightly on the library door before entering. As he had hoped, he found the girl exactly where he did last time; this time she was sitting on the sofa being much more awake, and had smiled in gleeful anticipation when she saw him.

"Hello Arnold. It's good to see you again. I've been waiting for you for a few nights already."

Arnold grinned at her, raising the book in his hands for her to see; he supposed it was more because of this item he possessed, rather than his company, that Meyrin looked forward to see him.

She appreciated the return of her journal, for sure, but she eyed the man with a suspicious yet harmless stare as she received the book from him. "I suppose I shouldn't be too alarmed if you told me you've already read through the contents?"

He shrugged, but still made the effort to look repentant. "My apologies, dear friend, but it's human nature to be curious. Of course, originally I had only wanted to find out who the owner is and return it, but I couldn't find a name."

"And naturally, the mentions of Natarle only made it more difficult for you to resist," she teasingly elaborated for him.

Arnold laughed, fully appreciative of the girl's graciousness and good sense of humour. "Again, I'm truly sorry," he apologised again, playfully bowing for a more dramatic effect, "I beg your forgiveness."

Meyrin giggled at his act. "You're forgiven. I've already prepared myself for this anyway. It's my own fault in the first place for misplacing my journal. Luna had searched the whole estate for it, so when she told me she couldn't find it, I knew someone must have found it. Thank goodness, at least, that it was you who found it. I suppose I should thank you for returning it to me."

"You're welcome."

"I should be feeling embarrassed that my thoughts had been laid open for you to read freely, but in a way, I also think it might have been fated that I extend my help to you in this way. I hope it had helped answer some questions you felt you weren't able to ask."

"Yes it has. Though there are still a number of questions outstanding. In fact," Arnold raised his hand to his chin, considering. "You might be able to help me on this."

"What is it?"

He pondered how to word it out for her, but there really was no other way of asking this question, except by being straightforward with it. "What exactly is the relationship between Natarle and Muruta?"

The redhead stared at him, speechless, and then let out a defeated sigh. "Of all the questions you can ask, you ask the most difficult one."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, thank you very much. If it was easy, I wouldn't be so stumped and ending up having to ask this horrid question which I'm not even sure I truly want the answer to. But she looked so-… _helpless_ when she mentioned him today."

"She mentioned him?" Meyrin was both curious and doubtful. "That's odd; she doesn't like talking about him. Was it something you did?"

He scratched the back of his neck, unconsciously mirroring Natarle's reaction earlier. "She was so distraught about Fllay, and I wanted to comfort her. I only briefly touched her on her back, and she turned around, looking completely shocked. That was when she mentioned his name."

"Oh… Oh, dear. You reminded her of him."

"Yes, I figured as much."

"No, I mean, this is bad."

"How so?"

"Don't you remember that entry where I wrote about why Natarle had her hair cut short?"

Arnold narrowed his eyes, trying to recall a memory he wasn't sure he had. "Which entry?"

"The one written in late March, if I remember correctly. It should be one of the last few entries." Meyrin opened the book in her hands and flipped through it quickly, until she found the page she was looking for. She held the opened book for Arnold to see. "This one!"

He did a quick scan of the contents. "I don't remember seeing this."

"Well," Meyrin breathed in deeply, "I would strongly suggest you to read it now."


	36. 23rd March

**23rd March**

_I have once again made an absolute fool of myself by asking the wrong question, this time the poor victim being Natarle._

_I don't remember how exactly did we arrive at this topic; it began with simple casual talk, nothing serious, which was why I forgot again to be careful with where I tread, but it was only after I asked the question that I remembered Natarle had always been deeply self-conscious about the length of her hair. And to ask her why she cut it, clearly knowing it wasn't one of the features she was particularly proud of, was downright rude of me._

_To my surprise, she didn't seem to mind my question at all. She said that I've been pulled into their matters which were in no way any fault of mine, yet I've done everything I could to help them, therefore I'm the only person who deserves the absolute truth. I could ask anything, and as long as she had the answer, she'd give it to me._

_At first I felt so happy about the fact that she was willing to share such things with me. It made me feel like I was becoming closer to them, like I'm finally starting to belong here, with them and the secrets they keep. But when she told me the story behind my question, the way she explained it to me made me quiver in embarrassment, ashamed of myself for having asked. I would never have guessed it was something so personal, nor would I have expected it would have anything to do with Muruta, and her frankness made me feel like I had abused the offer of honesty she promised me. _

_I can't write this in my own words; if I try to reword what she said, given the delicacy of the matter it would definitely come out in a distasteful tone, so I shall just write it in the exact words she spoke, or at least as I remember them. _

_She said, "He would sometimes cry: during his light sleep, or when he's hiding his face in my shoulders, not letting me see his tears. But I feel it anyway, that dampness on my skin. And it is during those times that I truly believe that there is this weak, desperate side of him that makes him afraid of himself—of what he's become. It is during those times that I genuinely feel pity for him. And because of that, there are some things I am willing to tolerate."_

"_He often said he loved the colour of my hair; he said black is a different kind of innocence, one that is much purer than white—much less pretentious—a kind that only he and I would understand, but I actually never did. And he would play with my hair; he would brush his hand against my back, letting my hair slip through between his fingers, over and over again. I didn't like it, because that, to me, was Fllay's privilege, but I let him do it anyway; it makes him happy, therefore it was one of the things I tried to tolerate. I thought I could get used to it, but I couldn't; he's done it much too often that this feeling had already been etched into the back of my consciousness, along with the memories of him—of his hands running along my back, and those times he came to me for comfort. Remembering this feeling makes me hate myself, because it reminds me of my faults, and in the end I couldn't take it anymore. So I cut my hair."_

_She never mentioned explicitly under what circumstances did Muruta do those things to her, but I suppose she assumes I'm already aware of the unstated. After all, she had been honest about it from the start, and of course I know the story that lies underneath those unspoken words. But the fact is, despite all that she's already told me, I feel I'm still can't grasp the true nature of their relationship. But then, if this is something even she cannot comprehend, then how would I be able to?_

* * *

**Author's note**

I'm very, truly sorry about taking such a long time to update! I've been wanting to work on this for a long time, but there's so much stuff going on in real life, I just simply couldn't… To make up for my lateness, I've put up two chapters this time. Enjoy!

To ACHACHACHA: Hi there! Thanks for your review! Sorry I couldn't reply to you sooner, and no worries, I don't mind long reviews at all. (In fact, I love them—they show me that my readers do care!)

I'm really happy to know that you appreciate the character and relationship building I've done; I've always felt that in order for readers to truly immerse themselves into and enjoy the story, they need to know that every character does what they do for a reason—not just for the sake of doing what a hero or villain should do—because that's what real people are like in the real world. Which is why your approval of Muruta as the villain absolutely delights me! So if by the end of the story, someone tells me that he/she feels sorry for Muruta, I'd say I've done pretty well. (Hmm, did I just give a hint of some sort?)

Onto the topic of leaving clues: I do admit that I might have been a bit stingy with the amount of clues I've worked into the story; it's my first time writing a mystery, so I'm not quite sure how to get a good balance with this. Fllay's secret would've been the one with most hints scattered along the way, because it's something Arnold had to be able to figure out; the rest—where Muruta is right now, and what really happened before his disappearance—would be more difficult to guess though. Hmm, perhaps I could point you in the right direction: you might want to have another look at the last chapter (Chapter 35), especially something specific that Natarle said (which she has to be _absolutely_ sure for her to say that); Fllay's accusations in Chapter 30 are also worth special attention. But then, these are probably not very helpful clues because the final truth is the result of a string of complexly intertwined events, so you probably won't be able to guess the answer without figuring out the whole story. But we're picking up the pace now! Just around 13 more chapters to go!

Haha, and now my reply is even longer than your comment! Sorry for my rambling, but I want to let you know that I really appreciate your review. :) Hope you'll enjoy the rest of the story!


	37. TEN

**TEN**

From the beginning, Natarle knew it was not going to end well. They never did.

It was again one of those fights that started out as petty, immature quarrels and had escalated into overblown, violent arguments, this time involving an exceptionally expensive antique armchair that used to belong to Grandfather, kept in Muruta's study—a place that was also previously Grandfather's, and Muruta very seldom used but claimed his own personal space—which Fllay had taken the armchair without his permission.

Muruta had charged into the small parlour when they were enjoying the quiet time after dinner, and immediately started questioning the girl regarding the whereabouts of that particular piece of furniture.

The girl's reply was a straightforward admission, followed by her justification for her acquisition of the item. As anyone could have guessed, no excuse coming from her would be good enough of an excuse for Muruta, and with a bit of tactful goading he easily manoeuvred Fllay into revealing that she had hidden the armchair in her own room. He turned around to leave the small parlour—clearly after the item—and Fllay had grabbed him by his coat to stop him. The fight started there.

Lunamaria, who was there because she was running an errand for Fllay, had immediately jumped in to protect her from Muruta's assaults, while Stellar had held onto him to restrain him, albeit without much effect. Natarle was somewhat trapped in the middle; she had tried to separate the two, but with every successful attempt to disentangle them, she would find herself caught between fiercer retaliations coming from both sides.

In a final effort, she pushed the two apart with all her strength, knocking Fllay into Lunamaria's arms with one hand while keeping her other on Muruta's chest. She looked straight into the blond man's clear blue eyes, herself unintimidated and unyielding, and yelled at him, "That's enough!"

His reaction was rather peculiar; there was this odd expression on his face that looked like a mixture of surprise, anger, defiance, and just a tiny hint of a plea, as though a complaint against Natarle's judgement. When he realised from her unfazed stare that she was not going to change her mind, his face immediately fell into one of bitter resentment.

He grabbed her hand and pushed it down as he took a step back, and he scowled, "You _know_ what this means." Not caring whatever reply she might have, he dropped her hand altogether and left the room.

It meant trouble; she knew too well.

His words refused to leave her mind, and the more she thought about them, the more she dreaded. The worry was distracting her, particularly when she also had the aftermath of the fight to take care of: the broken teacups, her upset sister, and the scratches on Stellar's arms. That was most likely why it was only after she had sent Fllay to bed and Lunamaria with her, and had also treated Stellar's wounds, that she allowed herself a small moment of relaxation, and as she rubbed lightly on her tense shoulders to ease the tiredness, did she finally realise in horror that her most precious possession was missing. She sprung from her seat, searching frantically around her, her panic so blindingly strong that she was even unaware of Stellar's queries as to what she was looking for.

The pendant. Mama's precious pendant. The pendant that was Papa's present to Mama.

She looked everywhere she could think of: between the seats, behind the cushions, beneath the sofa; on the side table, under the side table; along the way to the door, and back to the end of the room. It was nowhere to be found.

"Natarle, tell Stellar what it is you're looking for, so Stellar can help you," the blonde girl pleaded for probably the fifth time, and when Natarle still failed to give her the response she needed, she wrapped her arms around the young woman's, effectively forcing her to stand still. "What is Natarle looking for?"

She breathed carefully, struggling to calm herself. "My pendant. It's gone."

Stellar looked first at her, and then at the bareness around her neck. "The silver one that Natarle always wears?"

"Yes, that one."

"Please don't worry, Stellar can help you! Stellar will look for it with you!"

She did as she said, but with no success. Neither of them paid heed to time until Natarle finally noticed the frequencies of Stellar's yawning. It was getting late into the night, and she reckoned that, considering the lighting conditions, it was not the best time to be searching for lost items anyway.

"Stellar," she called to the girl softly, "it's alright; I'll look again tomorrow. You should go to bed now."

Stellar shook her head determinedly. "But Stellar's not tired yet! The pendant is important to Natarle, so we must find it first!"

"You are tired, Stellar, I can see that. Don't worry about it; I'm sure I'll be able to find it tomorrow," she gave a tight smile, trying to sound as assuring as she could.

Stellar had objected, but Natarle disregarded her, and ushered her out of the small parlour, forcing the girl back to her own room.

o-o-o

Stellar gripped the silver pendant tightly within her two palms, mostly afraid that she would clumsily trip over herself in the darkness and lose the item again.

She had found the pendant in the end. After being brought back to her room, she had waited a little while, and sneaked back into the small parlour to continue her search. She was prepared for the possibility of being scolded by Natarle for not listening to her and going to sleep, but she really didn't want to wake up next morning and see the worry still on the young woman's face. She went back, with the resolution of not resting until she found the pendant.

Fortunately, it did not take her much longer to find it; she had knelt on the floor, peering underneath the table, but she scanned every inch and found nothing, so she got up again, brushing her hands against her dress to straighten it, and that was when she felt something hitched onto the fabric. She looked to it, and there hung the shiny silver piece, dangling dangerously at the end of the silver chain which its other end was hooked onto the garment; the pendant itself would have been gone already if not for the metal clasp that was keeping it from slipping away. Stellar could not help but giggle to herself for her luck; it must have been caught in the creases of her sumptuously layered dress when the fight ensued, and she considered it rather lucky that she managed to find it like this after the chaos. She immediately ran out of the small parlour and dashed upstairs, heading straight for Natarle's bedroom.

She had just turned the corner when she caught sight of a tall figure in the corridor. Halting herself instantly she took a step back, retreating behind the corner; she had no idea why she did so, but it was an intuitive warning, and she always trusted those.

She took a cautious peek around the corner, and froze in place.

The person was standing in front of Natarle's bedroom, giving a quick knock on the door and entered without being asked to. She recognised him straightaway, but she could not comprehend the reason for his visit.

What was Muruta doing, coming to Natarle's room in the middle of the night?

* * *

**Author's note**

Just a little note for readers who've come straight to this chapter, this is the second of two chapters I've put up together in this update, so make sure you didn't miss the first one!


	38. The Shadows Behind

**The Shadows Behind**

As he was finishing the last piece of his toast, Mwu took a quick glance at Natarle across the table, and then a few more. She had been quiet throughout breakfast, and it was rather difficult to ascertain what her mood was when she hadn't spoken a single word.

Murrue was talking with Arnold, and Stellar was saying something to himself, but he signalled the girl to pause and indicated towards Natarle's direction. The young woman was almost done with her meal, and if he were to say what he wanted to say, he had only little time left to do so.

"We were discussing yesterday, Natarle," Mwu spoke, deliberately saying her name a little louder, just to make sure she knew that this conversation was directed at her, "that maybe we should go to the lake again today and have a picnic."

"A picnic?"

"Yes, because the last time we went," he lowered his voice a little before continuing, "_Fllay_ wasn't there." Although Adelaide didn't ever have breakfast with them, he still felt the need to stay vigilant whenever they talked about anything that they could not have her knowing.

The suggestion had Fllay's immediate attention. She sat up straight and pointed her finger at Natarle, at the same time sending a hostile scowl towards Mwu. "I'm not going if she is!"

Mwu sighed heavily. "Fllay, we've talked about this yesterday."

"No, we didn't. _You_ were the one who did all the talking. I had voiced my opinion countless times; you just chose to ignore it!"

"Fllay, it's not fair to Natarle. Don't you think it's about time for you to let go of your grudges? We all would like to spend time with Natarle every once in a while."

"And that's why I said _I_ won't go! Why must I have to tolerate her presence? She will have Neumann to keep her company anyway; he's always following her around like a loyal puppy!" She turned to Arnold, who was already glaring back at her with disdain, and she quickly changed her expression to match his. "Why do you do it anyway? What do you see in her?"

Arnold looked evidently critical of Fllay's question; he did not reply her, opting instead to turn his attention towards Natarle to reassure her of his devotion, but a flash of worry crossed his features when Natarle failed to meet his eyes—apparently she had the same question as her sister did, and under immediate comparison, was less prepared for his response.

Fine then, he shall answer their question. "I see in her qualities that I find captivating and irresistible, which I believe most people distinguish this as love."

The redhead snorted in disgust. "_I see_ that she has you wrapped around her little finger. Just like she did with Muruta." There was an odd, suppressed hysteria in her grey-blue orbs when she said that, and her lips curved into an vile smirk as she spat, "I never realised she had such talent with men."

Arnold had only just enough time to catch sight of Natarle cringe at the brutal jab, before being distracted by another person's response.

"Fllay!" Stellar's voice resonated in the room, heavy with reproach. Everyone was in shock; no one in the room had ever seen the usually docile girl with such temper. She was angry; very angry, in fact, that her face had gone all red. "You of all people have no right to talk about Natarle like this!"

"But Stellar, do you even _know_ what she did?"

"Fllay doesn't know what happened!"

"She _seduced_ your brother just so that he would stop mistreating her!"

The loud bang of a fallen chair hitting the ground was heard, and they all turned to see Natarle, eyes wide, face burning in scarlet, and utterly mortified by the argument ensuing. She muttered in haste, "Please excuse me," and rushed out of the dining room to escape the scene.

Remembering Meyrin's journal entry he read the night before, Arnold had desperately wanted to stay behind to probe for more details and have them explain what exactly they meant by those things they said, but he surveyed the situation and made a swift judgement, deciding that it was much more important to go after Natarle.

Recently, it seemed like all he did—all he _could_ do—was chase after her.

As soon as he caught up he reached out to grab her by her wrist; she resisted, wriggling her hand violently to pull free, though failing at it only because he was stronger and managed to keep his hold on her.

"Let go," she yelled, "let go!"

"Natarle, look at me!" He twirled her around to face him, and stilled her in place with his sturdy hold. "Listen to me! I don't trust one word of what your sister has said; I trust _you_, and only you. You promised me one day you will give me the truth yourself, and therefore I will take only your word as the truth."

"There _is_ truth in her words!" She cried, her amethyst eyes guilty and fearful at the same time. "This isn't how I had in mind for you to know, and what had happened wasn't exactly how Fllay said it did either, but he and I-… we…"

Arnold pressed his fingers against her lips, halting her words. His heart was burning with a jealousy so fierce that he knew he was _so_ close to letting his self-control fall apart, because he already figured what it was that she was struggling to admit. But he also knew that jealousy was not going to get him anywhere, and if he let his emotions run free it would do nothing but cause damage.

"If now is not the time for you to tell me the truth, then don't tell me anything at all, because if I can't have the whole truth, I won't be able to refrain myself from making speculations. And it won't be fair to either of us."

She was still for a second, digesting what he had just said to her, then nodded tentatively, and gave him a stare that sought for further guidance—for the briefest of moments she appeared as though she was ready to do anything he requested from her. This, at least, he could draw a bit of solace from; he was important to her enough that she would rather put her blind trust in him than to risk them falling apart.

He stroked her hair lightly, and leaned forward to leave a quick kiss on her cheek—this was the most tender he could be with her now; the flames of jealousy threatening to disintegrate his sensibility had not receded by much, yet the power to restrain himself was being pulled thinner and thinner with every moment he spent with her. He needed to leave before he did anything drastic.

"Arnold?" There was a hint of hesitation in her simple query, and he couldn't tell whether or not she had sensed the state of unrest his emotions were in.

He forced a smile. "Tell me again when you've decided what needs to be told. I'll wait a just little longer."

And this time, it was he who turned to leave.

o-o-o

She watched him leave, and with every step he took away from her, the angst gnawing at her heart intensified, to the point that it was agonizing enough to only stare at the now empty space where he stood just moments ago, because she could already foresee that this was exactly what his departure would be like—by his leave, he would be taking away with him everything that he ever gave her, leaving behind an expansive void in her heart.

For the first time, she had a real taste of the bitterness she would be feeling a thousand-fold stronger when he forsakes her.

The end was nearing; he was losing patience in waiting for the truth, and she could no longer delay this process. It had to be done.

Natarle's mind immediately started working on the more practical side of the matter—such as how she would be able to cut short Adelaide's stay and send her away, in order to pave the way for the perfect timing to reveal her story, her _crimes_—and she was consciously avoiding having to consider the more fundamental question of _how_ she was ever going to deliver him the truth as she had sworn. She was a coward, she decided, but she doubted anyone would have enough nerve to jump straight into the search for an answer to a problem that, upon resolution, would be more devastating than the process itself. She was short on time, but she still needed just enough of it to gather her courage.

She wished that she could have someone to help her, even if it was only for a little; to give her advice, or failing that, at least lend her an ear for her to vent her fears and frustrations.

Naturally, Arnold would be the best candidate, but if he was also half the source of the problem, then who should she go to?

She did not want to burden Mwu with anymore of her troubles, and she felt it wasn't appropriate to solicit Murrue's advice regarding this matter. Considering the other half of her problem's source was Stellar's brother, going to the girl was clearly not a viable option.

And then she remembered that there was still someone who might be willing to spare her a bit of time and listen to her.

Not quite sure what the girl would think of her visit, she considered briefly, then upon deciding she would go ahead with it, she turned around and headed straight for the West Wing. She went swiftly, filled with anticipation, not only because she felt positive that the girl would be kind enough to accommodate her, but also because she was already looking forward to seeing her again.


	39. ELEVEN

**ELEVEN**

It was her habit to keep her back at him whenever they lay in bed together. It suited Muruta fine; he was perfectly content with being able to hold her from behind, because it allowed him to easier run his hands through that beautiful lustrous hair of hers—so damnably beautiful, that it was fair enough to say it had become his obsession.

She squirmed a little when his hand brushed lightly against her back, probably because of the tickle. He ignored her and continued to play with the long, ebony silk that fell down her bare back onto the bed sheets, every now and then leaving kisses on her neck, shoulder, and back. Her milky skin was damp with sweat, the flickering light by the bedside reflected on it in a soft pearlescent glow, and her breathing was still a little uneven, haven't quite subsided yet even though it had been a while already since they finished.

"You always side with her," he said, deciding he still needed to voice his complaint though it was obvious that Natarle already knew; she did know, for certain, because he made sure he remembered to state his grievances every single time he bedded her.

She sighed tiredly, clearly preferring the silence. "That's because you always pick on her."

"That's because she's always doing these things on purpose to annoy me!"

"She doesn't do them to annoy you, she does them to make herself happy. What use did you have for that chair anyway?"

"It's an antique! It's worth quite a fortune; what if she damages it?"

"There is quite a collection of antique pieces in the house that no one cares for. Assuming you've suddenly gained an interest in such things, you'll probably find it more worthwhile to give your attention to those items. I'll ask Mr. Halberton to show them to you tomorrow."

This was one thing he learnt to appreciate of her—he did not know whether it was her kind of humour, or it was unintentional, but she would always be able to come up with some sound reasoning to counter his capricious excuses, and he would be left wondering whether she was taking him seriously, or simply mocking him. Either way, it was fine; he was satisfied as long as she would give him her attention—of course, he did spend a fair bit of effort teaching her the consequences of disregarding him, and she had proven herself a quick learner. Fighting the urge to turn her around and claim that stubborn mouth of hers, he instead pulled her deeper into his embrace.

She attempted to wiggle away, but he held her firmly, and she was too worn out to put up an effective resistance. Leaning forward, he rested his head lightly against hers; it was a very comfortable position, and after a short while he felt himself already starting to drift into sleep.

She seemed to have sensed it, and nudged him with her elbow. "Don't fall asleep here. It'll be dawn by the time you wake up, and the staff will be doing their morning rounds."

When after a rather long moment of waiting she still did not get any response from him, she gave him another harder jab, waking him entirely. "You need to go now."

"You know I don't like people telling me what to do," he growled lowly into her ears, and gave it a soft bite as his warning to her.

"You can't stay," she tried again, this time with a milder voice, hoping to instil some sense in him.

The reply he gave was not with words. He let his hands travel along her abdomen, stopping to draw a small circle on her lower stomach before going all the way down to reach for her legs. He glided his hand between them, tracing the delicate skin along the inner side above her knees and enjoying the way she shuddered under his touch, then he drew his hand up again, sliding his fingers through to feel the cleft between her thighs before slipping them inside her. He heard her whimpers, the noise muffled by the pillow she hid her face into. She tried to pull his hand away. "Stop it."

He ignored her. Pushing her by her shoulder he forced her to fall flat onto the bed facing down. Bending down a little, he brushed away her hair to plant a small kiss on her spine, then ran his tongue up along her back until he reached her neck, sending her into shivers. She attempted to get up and free herself from this position, but he pushed her down again and kept a hand on her back to hold her in place while he repositioned himself on top of her. As her punishment for trying to get away, he bit into her shoulder, drawing a small yelp from her. He forced one leg in between hers, wedging them apart to make way for himself.

"No," she protested.

Leaning down, he breathed hotly into her ear, "As I said, I don't like people telling me what to do. So be quiet now and let me have what I want."

It was a lost cause asking him to spare her, this they both knew, so instead she buried her face into her pillow, letting him do as he pleased. Although it was a pity she wouldn't turn around to face him, he probably preferred it this way. While he loved watching the way her gorgeous features be drawn together in the most enduring manner whenever he was ruthless with her, and that he knew he would never see anything more beautiful than those striking amethyst eyes being filled with tears as she was driven to exhaustion, there was one thing he simply and absolutely could not stand—it was seeing the hurt in her eyes that reminded him of the everlasting, unbridgeable distance between them.


	40. The Return of Muruta Azrael

**The Return of Muruta Azrael**

Seeing this particular room being occupied by the person who was once her sister—and then ceased being that—stirred in Natarle a sentiment that she found rather difficult to comprehend.

She never really liked this room; although it was decorated beautifully by the use of soft, warm colours to give a homely, inviting impression, over time she had come to associate it with the dull insentience embodied by her then slumbering sister. She had always thought the moment Fllay woke from her sleep, the room would have lost its use, and she would never have to revisit this place again. But Meyrin's tenancy brought out the liveliness that was originally intended for it, and she could not help but feel that, if this room had a mind of its own, it would be grateful for having found a more compatible resident.

Meyrin's hands, holding onto her own, were warm and soft, her touch firm yet gentle, and Natarle realised that although Fllay was irreplaceable, there were also certain merits in this girl that her own sister could not match up to.

"I assure you, Arnold does love you very much," her grip tightened a bit, "You need to stop doubting him, and you most certainly also need to stop doubting yourself."

"But he doesn't know everything yet," Natarle argued, and she saw the expression on Meyrin's face that told her she was being too stubborn. She agreed she might be so, but she also believed it was too risky to give herself too much hope. "I shouldn't jump to conclusions at this stage when he doesn't have all the facts to make an informed decision."

"Natarle, stop thinking with your mind when it comes to matters of the heart. _Feel_ it, with your heart. It knows best."

She bit her lips, and then wanted to say something, but found difficulty in getting the words out. Meyrin watched and giggled softly, "Yes, Natarle?"

"Do you really think that," she asked with a rare timid voice, "after he knows about all those things I've done, he would still see me the same way?"

The redhead tilted her head in a contemplative manner. "Well, maybe his opinion of you might change a little. It was, after all, quite a serious incident." Natarle grimaced, an indication that Meyrin gave a very fair assessment indeed. The girl patted lightly on the back of her hands. "But that doesn't mean he'll love you any less. Love is all-encompassing; he would still love you the same way, despite your past. And as we say all the time, it wasn't your fault anyway, and I'm sure he'll come to the same conclusion after he's heard the whole story. He doesn't strike me as person who has obstinate morals and will not forgive any kind of wrongdoing."

She was still pondering over her evaluation of the man, when Meyrin added, "I believe he'll be more lenient to you than you are to yourself."

Natarle wanted to retort, but the knock on the door stopped her. She looked at Meyrin, who stared back with slight panic in her sceptical frown. If everyone who knew about this room knew also not to come here, who could it be?

"Meyrin, it's Miri. I'm looking for Miss Natarle, is she there with you?"

Almost in sync, they let out relieved sighs. Natarle turned towards the door and replied, "Come in, Miriallia. I'm here."

The door burst open, showing the rather agitated looking young maid, her breathing seemingly a bit ragged, probably resulting from an extensive search around the house for her mistress. "Miss Natarle!" She scurried towards the raven-haired woman and stopped to greet her properly with a curtsey, though clearly impatient to be given permission to speak.

Natarle frowned; it seemed serious, and considering Miriallia came all the way to the West Wing looking for her, it most probably was. "Is something wrong?"

"Inspector Durandal is here. He said he's brought news about Mr. Muruta."

Two names thrown into the same sentence, neither of them were what Natarle had expected to hear; astounded and speechless, she sat frozen in her seat, and her heart was already beating furiously in anxiousness as she attempted to guess what news the inspector had come here with.

"Miss Natarle," Miriallia continued, "he's already requested Mr. Halberton to gather Mr. Mwu and the others in the drawing room."

Seeing that Natarle was still in a state of shock, Meyrin queried cautiously, "Natarle? I think you should hurry."

She sat a while in silence. Then as though her mind had suddenly cleared, she rose from her seat and spoke with newfound resolution, "Yes, it's time."

o-o-o

By the time she reached the drawing room, everyone else that needed to be there already was. Fllay sat with Stellar in the sofa next to the armchair where the inspector was settled, and Mwu stood guardedly behind them; Arnold and Murrue situated themselves a polite distance away; Adelaide, clearly already impatient, was pacing back and forth the room, and upon seeing Natarle enter the room, asked disparagingly, "What took you so long?"

Natarle only briefly glared at her in irritation, but completely ignored her question as she walked past her towards Durandal. The tall man stood up and turned around, and his long and wavy dark hair, tied together at the back of his head, swept from his shoulders to his back in his quick movement. His lips pulled into a reserved smile that conveyed familiarity and professionalism, but his eyes were aloof, contradicting his seeming friendliness.

"Inspector," Natarle greeted, dipping her head down a little in a polite bow, "it's good to see you again. I heard you brought news."

Durandal returned the greeting. "Miss Natarle, it's nice to see you too. Yes, I have news; maybe you would like to first take a seat, before I start?"

Natarle took a good, long stare at him, hoping she could find some sort of clue from his expression to help prepare herself for the conversation to come, but his calm and straight face betrayed nothing. He must have guessed her intentions, because he let slip a strained smile when he advised further, "Please do sit; it might be better. I'm afraid it's not good news."

Adelaide's reaction was instant; she made a short dash towards Durandal, grabbing onto his arm tightly. "What do you mean it's not good news? Have you found him or not? Where is he now?"

"Adelaide, please!" An exasperated Stellar cried, "We're all impatient to hear the news about Muruta, but you must let Inspector Durandal speak."

That was enough to earn a moment of silence from Adelaide. Durandal took a sweeping glance across the room, quickly confirming that everyone was prepared to listen to him, and then in a quiet, sombre voice, he made the much awaited announcement.

"We've found Muruta. Or at least from what we've got so far, we believe it's him."

"What do you mean by that?" Mwu asked, his voice low and reserved.

"Two of the townsmen went fishing along the coast at early dawn today, and they accidently crossed boundaries—their boat drifted into waters within Dominion Hall's parameters—but they didn't notice immediately. They fished out some human bones, so they immediately came to us. We then went back and searched the areas around the boundaries, and we found more bones, tattered pieces of clothing, a rusty key, and a pocket-watch. The watch has Muruta's name engraved into it."

* * *

**Author's note**

Counting down to the ending, 9 more chapters to go!


	41. If You Let Go Now…

**If You Let Go Now…**

"_The watch has Muruta's name engraved into it."_

Durandal had deliberately let the most defining part of his announcement draw into the air as slowly as possible; he needed enough time to observe everyone's reaction to the news.

Especially considering there was a chance Muruta's death was not an accident, and most likely one of these people was responsible for it.

The first thing he noticed was how Stellar clasped her hands together and hid her face in between, doing her best to restrain herself from an eruption of emotions—the girl was already on the verge of bursting into tears, but she was managing to hold back. Comparing to the last time when she had instantly broken down at his mere suggestion of soliciting her parents' help to search for Muruta, it seemed that she had matured a fair bit within these few months.

Fllay next to her looked relatively calmer than the blonde girl, but he could see from the confusion in her eyes that there were probably a lot of questions on her mind now. He remembered that Muruta used to whinge to him about the quarrels he had with this girl, but she must be innocent—there was not one bit of guilt in her eyes; there was just pure confusion—and he doubted a young girl like her could do such great harm to the grown man Muruta was anyway.

Mwu behind them had his teeth clenched and hands held tightly in fists; was he angry about his cousin's unfortunate demise? Durandal knew they weren't close, but Muruta never said anything bad about this man, which considering his sentiments towards his extended family, Durandal believed that Mwu was already the person most well-accepted by Muruta. A reaction as such was understandable.

Adelaide was surprisingly quiet. Not a single sound, not one movement, and barely even breathing—too quiet, and Durandal knew from his experience on the many cases he had worked on before, this usually was the calm before a storm of emotions. He decided to give her the time to let the news sink in.

The two guests, introduced to him as Arnold Neumann and Murrue Ramius, looked different amounts of bewilderment. The look on the woman's face was one of pure perplexity; obviously this was not something she had expected to encounter on a vacation at a friend's house. In contrast, the expression the other man wore spoke a completely separate story.

On the surface, he had the same astonishment that was apparent in everyone else's reactions, but Durandal noticed that underneath the initial shock was an intense curiosity. He felt a certain resonance to the way the young man sat deep in his seat, his glances gliding across the room and back with sporadic short pauses, eyes occasionally narrowing in concentration before relaxing again; as though with each shifting of his attention, each measured breath he takes, the gears in his mind spins a notch faster. He realised the reason for this familiarity—this man was doing exactly the same thing as himself, attempting to deduce if anyone in the room had anything to do with Muruta's death. An odd sense of anticipation rose from within Durandal; he wondered briefly whether Arnold would suspect the same person as he did, and then almost immediately he had his thoughts confirmed—no matter how many times Arnold looked away, his speculating gaze kept returning to that one person, the very same that was on the top of his list of suspects.

Durandal turned his attention away from the blue haired man and towards who he now believed was their common suspect. She was deep in thought; there was sadness—that, Durandal had to acknowledge—but there was also a bit of panic in the way her brows creased, and hands held together tightly, as though trying to stop them from trembling. He no longer remembers since when he had started suspecting that Natarle had had something to do with Muruta's disappearance, because so far there had been nothing that suggested she was guilty, except for the memories of the last conversation he ever had with Muruta. His friend hadn't said much in that conversation—he was drunk, and surprisingly, he was the type of person that would become rather quiet when intoxicated—and although he did mention Natarle's name, he never implied it was a foul matter. But exactly three weeks after their discussion Muruta disappeared, and Durandal could not help but feel the timing was not coincidental.

"Are you sure it's him?" Mwu broke the silence with a question of cautious scepticism.

All eyes turned from him to Durandal, who confirmed with a heavy nod. "I've checked the pocket-watch; I've seen it before, it's definitely Muruta's. And judging by the measurements of the bones, the person was a male, about the same height and build as him."

Durandal could see from the crowd's noiseless response that they still didn't know what to believe, so he offered, "Our deepest apologies, we should have notified you earlier when we started the search just outside your parameters, but we didn't want to alarm you unnecessarily. We're still trying to sort out all that we've gathered this morning, and I will be coming back tomorrow with more conclusive results. But I don't want you to get your hopes high; I'm afraid I must say, it's very likely that it _is_ Muruta we've found."

"But that means there is still a chance it isn't him, right?" Adelaide's voice was desperate; the poor woman was grasping at straws, and brutal as it might seem, Durandal knew it was best to crush all her hopes and make her face the harsh reality.

"Miss Fenn, I do not wish to sound unsympathetic, but if you must insist there is a chance, then I would advise that the chance is next to nought."

With her last drop of hope vaporised in a matter of seconds, the woman had lost all strength and dropped to her knees, and then sat unceremoniously on the floor, uncontrollable tears flowing as she accepted the reality.

Durandal sighed with pity. "I'm deeply saddened too by this, as Muruta had been a very good friend to me. This is exactly why I am here now. I will do whatever I can to find out what happened that resulted in this tragedy."

Fllay nodded, Stellar's frown deepened, and Mwu mumbled coarsely a 'thank you'. Natarle was the only person who did not give any reaction when he made his statement, her head hung low to avoid meeting his eyes.

Was she guilty?

"There is one thing you may be able to help me with, Miss Natarle," Durandal asked, his tone particularly heavy when he spoke her name, compelling her to look up towards him. "When I first took over the case, I've told you that I had met with Muruta three weeks prior his disappearance; what I didn't say then was what we talked about during that meeting. Now that he is no longer simply missing, but very likely dead, and I think this is information that I should divulge if I want to get to the bottom of the issue."

She stared at him, clueless yet cautious.

"He said he wanted a second opinion regarding something; he needed someone from outside the family to help him—as he put it, someone who hadn't experienced the madness that goes on in the house. The problem he faced was regarding one particular person, and it was you, Miss Natarle."

Her eyes widened with shock. Not that it was one bit surprising; Durandal knew clearly by saying this out loud essentially meant he was pronouncing her a suspect, and anyone in her place, guilty or not, would react the same way. He simply wanted to catch her off guard and see if she would let slip anything.

"What did he say?" She asked carefully.

"Nothing else, unfortunately. He was very unhappy back then, and drank quite a lot that day. He spent most of the time complaining about his misfortunes, and said he would tell me more the next time. But as we all know, that never happened. Now would there be any chance you know what he wanted to ask my opinion for? Did you two any problems that you couldn't solve between yourselves; any grudges held? Anything that might give a clue to what happened to Muruta?"

"What do you mean by this?" Mwu spoke up, and had quickly moved away from behind the sofa to stand next to Natarle, ready to defend her. "Are you implying what happened to Muruta has to do with her? What proof do you have?"

"Mwu, wait," she tried to push Mwu back a few steps. "Let me handle this myself."

"No, I'm not going stand by and let people make accusations against you."

She chose to ignore Mwu. "Inspector-"

"_Hush_, Natarle," Mwu grabbed her by the arm and muttered to her, "Don't say a thing."

Something was off in the way Mwu spoke those words, his teeth gritted and tone measured, and how Natarle glared back at him, looking indecisive between whether to obey or defy his order. But before Durandal could even start to grasp what it meant, a ragged voice cut in and distracted them, "It must be her!" It was Adelaide, her face red and wet with tears after a long while of crying. "She must have killed Muruta, because she knew Muruta was going to kick her out once we got married!"

That caught Durandal's attention. "Miss Fenn, what do you mean by that?"

"Adelaide, you don't know what happened," Stellar interjected, "you can't just blame it on Natarle!"

"But it's true! She's the most suspicious person here! She must have tried to seduce Muruta, and when it didn't work, she decided to kill him instead!"

"You're being ridiculous, Adelaide!" Mwu criticized, disregarding Natarle's attempts to stop him from quarrelling with her further. "Muruta's death could very well be an accident; don't make stories up!"

"Why else would Muruta's attitude change? He loved me, and he'd never do anything that would upset me, but why else would he have lost his temper at me the last time I visited? I know what she had done to him, and Muruta must have realised it too in the end!" Adelaide argued with a firm confidence in her own deductions, but fearing that no one would trust her, she turned to Durandal. "Inspector, you must believe me! This woman is evil!"

"It's not true; it's not true!" Stellar cried, "Natarle isn't that kind of person!"

"Wake up, Stellar! You need to see the person she really is!"

The debate was starting to lose substance at the replacement of impetuous arguments, and at this point Durandal no longer knew whose words to trust, and whose to dismiss. He took a quick glance at the remaining three people who had yet to voice their opinions; Fllay, oddly, while seeming puzzled, was at the same time rather detached, refraining herself from being tangled in the situation despite the person being debated upon was her own sister; Murrue did not seem too concerned about the argument itself, except that she wanted it to end; Arnold's attention was clearly focused on catching every accusation or defence thrown into the debate.

And then Durandal considered again the reactions of the contending parties.

Adelaide was devastated and was obviously venting her emotions by lashing out on someone; adding to the fact that she had always disliked Natarle, as much as Durandal wanted to believe her, it would be difficult to tell whether her accusations were true if she could not produce more concrete evidence.

As for Mwu, although he had a fairly good relationship with Muruta, his relationship with Natarle was much closer. When she was declared a suspect, he had instantly come to her aid; was it out of an innate brotherly protectiveness, or did he know that she had something to do with Muruta's death and wanted to help her conceal it?

Yet if Natarle really had a part in it, why would Stellar side with her as well? Muruta was the most important person to Stellar, so if Natarle had caused the death of the girl's brother, surely she would not so readily defend her. Or maybe the girl was deceived and thought that Natarle was innocent?

Or maybe Natarle truly was innocent?

He could not tell; he needed more time to think, to consolidate all the information he had gathered today, and tidy up his theories. He needed to get the investigation results as well; maybe that could tell him more about whether Muruta's death was an accident, or was he murdered. He definitely hoped his friend was not murdered, but if he was, there was at least one suspect he could start with.

Durandal took a quick peek at the woman—he had wanted to be as discreet as possible, but saw that there was no point—strangely enough, she had been staring at him all along, her amethyst eyes full of resolve. Durandal found his intended swift glance turn into a steady stare, acknowledging her attention—she looked at him with the eyes of a person who had secrets; secrets that could no longer be kept hidden, and he was the one she needed to tell them to.

Which meant she was either going to admit her guilt, tell him who had done it, or give him what he needed to find the answer.

Their brief exchange of glances had not escaped Mwu's notice, and he immediately stepped in between them—any subtlety he might have intended lost in his movement—and shielded Natarle away from Durandal's sight. "Inspector, all this is based on the assumption that the body you've found is Muruta's, and we don't even know what the cause of death is yet. If we're lucky, it might not be him. Can you perhaps go back first and see what results the investigation has yielded?"

Durandal took a pause to consider his words; seeing that he was starting to hesitate, Mwu pushed further, "If the victim is so unfortunately really Muruta, then at least let us know for sure, so that we no longer dwell on false hope. And let us know as well, when you come back tomorrow, any further evidences that may help us understand what had happened to him."

Durandal drew in a contemplative breath, and then exhaled heavily. "Yes, I understand; your request is not unreasonable."

"But you can't leave it like this!" Right away Adelaide contested. "What if she really is guilty, and takes this chance tonight to escape?"

"I won't," Natarle said, though her reply was directed towards the inspector rather than the other woman. "I will still be here tomorrow; you have my word."

Taking the young woman's promise as also her challenge, Durandal gave a decisive nod of his head, and picked up his coat, ready to leave. "In that case, I will come again tomorrow, in the afternoon."

Seeing that this was the end of the day's discussion, Halberton dutifully stepped in and escorted the inspector out. As soon as the two men had exited their watch, Adelaide turned towards the rest of them, angry tears still streaming down her cheeks. "You all are trying to trick Inspector Durandal into thinking she's innocent, aren't you? I don't care whatever the inspector comes back with tomorrow; I _know_ you're responsible for Muruta's death, and I will make the inspector see that. You will pay for it!" With her ultimatum delivered, she stomped out of the room.

Everyone was silent for the short while after Adelaide's departure, but very soon another voice spoke up. "Well, that was quite a show."

The lightness of the statement bothered Stellar, so she queried, "What does Fllay mean?"

The redhead huffed loudly as a display of her discontent. "What I mean is, all this fuss is very pointless; you know that, Mwu knows that, _she_ knows that. I know that too, but since I didn't have a part in it—technically speaking—and I don't plan on having one now, I'll just leave it to you."

"But Fllay, aren't you worried about what Inspector Durandal will bring back tomorrow? Aren't you worried about what will happen-"

"I'm not interested in whatever has or will happen to that woman."

"Please don't say that, Fllay…" Stellar pleaded, "Natarle is your sister; don't say such hurtful things-"

"You're right; she's my sister. And see what she did to me! She betrayed me, and she _deserves_ this."

If Natarle had still held any hope that she could earn her sister's forgiveness, it would have been effectively and completely crushed by now. She watched in silence as Fllay left the room, while everyone else watched her, waiting for her next move.

Peculiarly, she let out a long, relieved sigh—more like a person who had a heavy burden lifted from her shoulders, rather than one who had as many troubles in her hands as she had. She turned around to face them, and for the quickest of moments her lips pulled into a strained smile, and then as swiftly as it came, it faded away.

"They're right. I will have to pay for what I've done, and now is the time."

"Natarle-"

"No!"

It was Mwu's voice that sounded first, but Stellar's protest immediately drowned it out. The girl evidently knew what the admission of guilt meant, and out of fear she took a tight hold on Natarle's hand. "Natarle, you promised you'd stay with Stellar."

The raven-haired woman let out a heavy, painful sigh. "I promised I will stay with you until Fllay has woken up, so that you won't have to be left alone. Now that Fllay has woken up, I have no excuse to elude my responsibilities."

"Natarle doesn't have to do this! Inspector Durandal might not be able to prove anything tomorrow; we can still keep everything the same as before!"

"What if he _does_ have proof? I'm the one who wronged, and I can't let any one of you be held accountable for it. The only way to be sure is for me to confess, and this is what I will do tomorrow."

"No, _please_-"

"What do you mean by this, Natarle?" Arnold interrupted, trying to make sense of the situation.

"I've decided, Stellar." Natarle answered only to the girl, ignoring the confused man entirely. "I've decided this a long time ago. I won't change my mind." She withdrew her hand from Stellar's grasp and threw her one last look of unwavering determination, did her best to avoid eye contact with everyone else in the room, and spun herself around to make her exit.

"Please don't do this, Natarle!" Stellar called from behind her, her voice laced with panic as she repeated her plea again and again, but seeing that even this could not win her a moment of the woman's hesitation, she ran to her other cousin. "Mwu! Say something, do something, please! Don't let Natarle leave us! Stellar doesn't want it to be this way!"

"I don't either, but what can I do? You _know_ her, she's the most stubborn person ever!" Mwu questioned, his tone rough and hasty, relinquished. He stood in absolute silence, and within that brief moment all sorts of emotions crossed his face—irritation, resignation, desperation, and the purest desire to simply give up. But he also knew he could never allow himself to just leave Natarle to her own devices; this woman was ready throw away everything that ever mattered to her without the slightest bit of hesitation, all for the sake of repaying a past mistake, and he was not going to let her do that.

"Mwu, I don't have the slightest idea what's going on here," Arnold pressed with an air of urgency, "but if you're not going to make a move, then I will."

He immediately shook his head as an indication to Arnold that he was definitely going to do something, just that he did not know what it was yet. "Why does she have to be so stubborn?" He growled in angry frustration with a heavy stomp of his foot, like a petulant child. He then grabbed Stellar's hand and ran out of the room, which Arnold and Murrue's immediate reaction was to follow them. They couldn't see her anywhere, but the echoes of her rushed footsteps down the hallways hinted them of her direction. They reached the end of the corridor, and Mwu was the first person who spotted her halfway up the staircase. "Natarle!" he yelled, and had successfully caught her attention. Instinct caused her to look back at them, and she had immediately regretted the distraction, turning back to her original course of escape, but Stellar had already caught up, getting a hold of her hand again.

"Don't go," Stellar pleaded.

"We can get through this, Natarle, just come back and we'll figure out something together," Mwu reassured her with his most convincing voice. "We did this once, we can do it again."

Natarle glared back at him, impatient and tired. "We can't. It's different this time. They've _found_ him."

Mwu swung his head in disagreement. "It's not too different. We're still in this together."

"There's no '_we_', Mwu; there never was!" She finally snapped. "It was my wrongdoing, and you don't have any responsibility for what had happened. _I_ do. So walk away now, because I need to end it once and for all. I owe Stellar, and Fllay, and you, and I can't live like this forever, knowing that I've caused the three of you so much pain and not being able to compensate for it!"

"But Stellar doesn't need any compensation!" The young blonde interjected, both hands now holding onto Natarle's, fighting hard to keep hold of her. "Stellar only wants Natarle to stay here with us… Stellar isn't angry; Stellar doesn't blame Natarle for-"

"How can you forgive a person like me?" Natarle callously ripped her hand away from the girl's grasp and took a few steps away from her, pulling apart their distance. "Your brother—your only family—is dead because of me!"

Stellar gasped aloud, as though buried, harrowing memories had been awakened by the woman's words. She shook her head fervently. "He's not Stellar's _only_ family. Stellar still has-"

But Natarle did not hear her. "This is the best, for all of us. I've done enough harm. It has to stop."

"Natarle." A composed voice resounded amidst the calamity—a voice that belonged to a certain person who had already gained too much importance in her heart, that the simple sound of her name in his voice had the power to still her nerves from her quarrel with her cousins, and yet immediately throw her into another storm of emotions.

"Tell me what is going on," the blue-haired man's stare was intensely panicked, yet glazed with a forced optimism. He moved up the stairs a few steps. "Natarle, talk to me."

He was coming too close.

No, he had _already_ come too close; he had crossed every single barrier, and had come for her.

"Stop where you are." She retreated a few more steps, moving herself further up the staircase. "Don't come any nearer."

"Natarle, you need to tell me the truth."

Yes, that. Of course she remembered. There really was no escaping this time.

"You heard me the first time, Arnold." Her words came out with a slight quiver, and she hoped the fear within would have escaped his notice. She gave her voice more strength this time, using the false boldness of it to mask her insecurities. "I am the person responsible for Muruta's death."

He gave her a stare that said he was unconvinced, challenging her to continue.

"This _is_ the truth, as I promised you, Arnold. This is why I'm so afraid of hearing Muruta's name being mentioned, or talking about anything that relates to him, or even just remembering him. This is why you shouldn't be near me."

"What do you mean?" he demanded, and his tone was much harsher than she had expected. There was something inside of her that started to hurt; not the sharp, excruciating kind of pain, but as though there were small splinters penetrating through every inch of her being—a pervasive, tenacious pain that she suspected would last until the day her heart stops beating.

She wished wholeheartedly, if she could go back in time—before all her crimes had been revealed—and have his untainted love for one more moment with the knowledge that it was the last, then she would have lived her life's worth.

But it was too late.

"I killed Muruta."

o-o-o

They shared occupancy in the drawing room in absolute silence. They all knew something had to be done, yet no one was quite sure what exactly it was. They needed a place to settle and discuss, and naturally they found themselves back here, the same place they were before.

A cold tension loomed the room, caused singlehandedly by one certain blue-haired man.

Arnold had not spoken a word since Natarle's admittance of the crime she had committed, nor did he give chase when the woman deserted them there at the staircase. He had, in fact, held Stellar back when the girl wanted to pursue, and they had never seen such severity in his emerald eyes when he refused to allow anyone go after her. It was as though the revelation of Natarle's sin had brought something from the darkest depths in him out to the surface.

"It was an accident," Mwu attempted to defend Natarle.

"It wasn't an accident."

All eyes turned to Stellar, who had spoken with a firmness that indicated she knew fully well what she had just said, yet they were all uncertain whether or not they should believe in it.

"It wasn't," she insisted, "it might have looked like one to you, Mwu, when you came back and saw the aftermath. But it wasn't. At least, Stellar believes that for Natarle, it wasn't purely an accident."

"What do you mean, Stellar?" Mwu questioned.

"Stellar promised never to tell…" she dragged her words, her confliction clear in her tone, "but Stellar wants Mwu to help Natarle."

Murrue patted the girl lightly on her shoulder. "If what you tell us benefits Natarle in the end, I'm sure she will forgive you."

Stellar took a short moment to consider, then gave a slight, hesitated nod. She had probably been deliberating this for a very long time, and Murrue's advice was all she needed to make the decision. "Alright. Stellar will tell everything," she turned to her cousin, her tone full of regret, "even those things Mwu never knew about."


	42. TWELVE

**TWELVE**

Stellar had almost fallen asleep here, behind the corner, having waited several hours for her brother to come back out from Natarle's room. It was very uncomfortable to wait in this crouching position; she was sleepy, her legs were sore, and she had no idea how much longer she needed to wait. Yet she knew she could not simply leave; the instant she saw her brother knocking on the door, she knew this was the answer to her queries: this was what was happening—what she never figured out—that kept nagging at her senses and sent her a warning of impending danger.

Suddenly, she heard the clicking sound of an opening door, and reflexively she hid deeper into her corner; it was her brother who had emerged from the room. He turned around, taking a moment to gaze back into the dimly-lit room, before closing the door to leave by his hefty and unwilling footsteps.

o-o-o

Natarle found herself more awake now than she was before Muruta had left. She was tired and yet she could not sleep, because she was also sweltered, and in pain.

He had been more forceful than usual tonight.

Sitting up and close to the light by her bedside, she pushed away the covers to examine his handiwork: he left a bite mark near her shoulder, another on her thigh, and there was a fresh bruise on her arm where he grabbed her with a bit too much force. Although it probably was not going to help much, she rubbed on the sore spot, hoping it would help speed up the recovery so that those blues and purples will be gone by the morning. If not, then she would have to pick her outfit carefully.

Curse that nefarious man and the damnable things he did.

She let out a heavy, restrained breath, in attempt to put a leash on the painful frustration within her that was forcing its way out; such emotions always brought her to the verge of tears, but she had sworn to herself she would never cry again.

Suddenly, between the sound of her own breathing and the silence of the night, she thought she heard a noise and jolted. When she looked up, she couldn't find anything that might have been the source of the sound. She waited a little, ready to conclude that it was only her mind playing a trick on her, when she saw it: the door slid open, and a small figure emerged from the narrow gap.

Her first reaction was to cover herself. "Who is it?" She made an effort to sound formidable, because inside, she was absolutely and terribly petrified.

The light beside her did little to aid her sight, and she was straining her eyes to see, but as the figure crept closer, she realised it was not too difficult to guess whom it was after all—that petite stature, those light footsteps, and the soft, unsettled voice that called to her, "Natarle?"

Her heart plummeted into the depths of terror.

"Wait, Stellar, stay there." She fumbled to gather more of the fabric around her to cover up herself as much as possible. It was probably too late, but appearing undressed in front of Stellar—in front of anyone, in fact—was definitely not something she found pleasing.

But the girl just kept coming towards her.

"Stop! Stellar, _please_ stop!"

And the girl was already here, standing at the end of her bed, with those cherry coloured eyes surveying her.

Natarle held tight onto her blankets, but under Stellar's gaze, everything felt transparent; as though the blankets she clung so desperately onto had vanished, and she was simply herself, raw and naked, sitting there under the girl's unrestrained scrutiny. She felt sickeningly ashamed to the point that she wanted to vomit.

She never thought there would come a day that she would be afraid to look into the eyes of the sweet, innocent, indiscriminative Stellar.

This was the most humiliating situation she had ever have to endure, except, or course, what Muruta did to her—and on a rather frequent basis—which was the exact cause of the problem she currently had at hand. Would Stellar believe her if she explained herself? But if she thought about it carefully, it was only natural that Stellar should choose to give the benefit of doubt to her own brother, and conversely she would become the initiator of this illicit relationship; a manipulator, just as Adelaide had accused her. She was going to lose Stellar's trust forever.

When Stellar finally opened her mouth to speak, it was not anything Natarle had expected.

"What has Muruta done to you?" Her question came out shakily and weak, laden with apology, as though she already had an idea what the answer was, only to afraid to hear its confirmation.

A collision of emotions overwhelmed Natarle, and she had no idea what she was feeling: was it relief, that she had not been subjected to a prejudiced judgement? Was it gratefulness, for the girl's acuteness and sympathy? Was it pity, that Stellar was forced to accept the truth of her brother's immoralities?

Muruta had done enough damage already, but neither of them could have foreseen that the consequences would have such a far reach. While it was never—nor would ever be—his intention to hurt Stellar, Natarle was sure the ingenuous girl would no longer be able to look at her brother the same way again.

But it was not fair to Stellar that she gets hurt because of this.

Natarle decided to downplay the facts, for Stellar's sake. She considered carefully how to word this; she always knew that, most unfortunately, she would never be able to master the skill to deliver unpleasant news with the necessary graceful delicacy. Taking in a quiet, deep breath, she stated in the most level voice she could, "It's not a big deal. He does it sometimes."

Her answer seemed to have given the adverse effect as she hoped. The young blonde's eyes grew wider than they already were, and her voice sounded rattled. "How many times… has Muruta done this?"

Silence hung in the air for a bit too long, and they both realised the answer was not going to come. Natarle did not have a reply, not because she didn't want to give one; it was because she couldn't—because Muruta's abuse happened too often that she had already lost count of the occasions; so often, that she could _almost_ get used to it. Her shoulders pulled into a tentative shrug.

Stellar's head dipped low, looking as ashamed of herself as she was of her brother. "S- since when did this start?"

That, Natarle still remembered, and doubted she would ever be able to forget. That night when she was already almost asleep, hovering along the edges of her consciousness, when she suddenly felt her covers being pulled away, and her eyes flew open, her mind empty except for the indescribable terror of finding him already crouched over her like a savage beast staring at his prey.

"Since that fight he had with Fllay after Adelaide's first visit."

"Muruta's been doing such a cruel thing to Natarle for so long?" Tears welled up in those magenta orbs, and the way she spoke was full of self-condemnation. "Why didn't Natarle tell Stellar?"

How _could_ she tell her? Even if she put aside her resolve to protect Stellar from the ugly truth about Muruta, this was still something she would rather never have to speak to anyone about. Such humiliation; such agony, that if she could not have the power to stop Muruta, the ability to disregard those memories of what it felt like to be touched by him—by his callous kisses and intemperate desires—would suffice. She already had Miriallia as her accomplice to help clean up the messes Muruta left behind—she could never thank the young brunette enough for her loyalty and discretion—and she had prayed ceaselessly that no one else would find out about this.

Wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, Stellar used her other free hand to steady herself as she sat down on the edge of Natarle's bed, and then leaned in to embrace the young woman.

"Natarle, S- Stellar… Stellar is sorry… for what Muruta has done," she hiccupped the words, and tears kept falling despite her efforts to stop them. "W- what can Stellar do… to help?"

The girl was more woeful than Natarle had ever seen her, and for something that was not even happening to her own person.

It took her too long to notice this, but at this moment Natarle finally realised how important Stellar had become to her—her benevolence and clemency, and that pure heart of hers; Stellar was the only consolation she had left within the walls of this tormented place called Dominion Hall.

She returned the embrace; her hold might have been tighter than she had intended, but Stellar did not seem to mind. "You don't have to do anything, Stellar. I am just grateful for your understanding. Just promise me one thing."

"Stellar will promise whatever Natarle asks."

"Don't ever tell anyone about this. Especially Fllay."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Her brother was a monster.

It was the reality. She had always known of his cruelness, but Stellar never would have believed he was capable of such malice, had she not seen its consequences with her own eyes.

But he was her brother. And no matter the things he had done, no matter the extent of his wickedness, the unchanging fact was that he was still, and forever will be, her brother, the person who raised her and protected her, the one man who loved her most and was the most important to her.

She wanted him to stop, before he reached a place where he was beyond redemption. There was a part of him that was still gentle and considerate—she _knew_ that—and she did not want him to look back into the past one day, and find out that even he hated and despised the person he saw.

She set off to find him sometime after lunch, and found him striding down the hallway on the second floor, making his way towards the study. Natarle hardly ever went to the study, which was good, because she needed a place to talk with Muruta without being heard by Natarle.

He did not notice her following him, and she was careful to make sure it stayed that way. She waited for him to enter the room before making a short dash and slipping through the door, catching him just in time.

"Stellar?" He asked with surprise as he watched the girl close the door for him. "What's going on?"

"Muruta." Stellar spun around to look at him, posture firm and all serious, with a flicker of flame in her eyes.

"Yes?" Muruta asked again with a frisky smile, hoping to lighten up his sister's mood.

Unfortunately for Muruta, her glare only got more confrontational. "Stellar has to ask Muruta about something."

He dropped the playfulness in his smile, replacing it with a gentleness that she was more accustomed to, not wanting to aggravate her more. "And what would that be?"

"It has to do with Natarle."

The smile on Muruta's face faded away altogether. "What about her now?"

"Stellar knows what Muruta does to Natarle."

"I've no idea what you're talking about, Stellar."

"Don't lie, Muruta! Stellar knows what you've done! Stellar knows how you hurt Natarle!"

Muruta inhaled deeply. "Stellar, listen carefully. This is between me and her. It has nothing to do with you. Don't get involved, because it won't do you good."

"No!" Stellar fought back, refusing to be dismissed so easily. She was here to help Natarle. "Stellar already knows, and Stellar wants Muruta to stop!"

"Stellar, there are things you don't understand-"

"Stellar understands enough to know that it's wrong! How can Muruta do this? How can Muruta be so cruel to Natarle?"

"No, Stellar, you don't-"

"Natarle's our cousin! She's part of the family-"

"She's not our cousin!"

The revealing of a long hidden secret effectively stopped Stellar.

"She's not an Allster, we're not related by blood!" Muruta knew he shouldn't be screaming this out loud, but he could not help it—he never fared well under stress, and he found himself unable to control his own voice, even though it was his dearest sister he was talking to. "She's not Uncle George's daughter! She was fathered by another man before Aunt Elizabeth married him!"

"How… how would Muruta know?" Stellar asked; unsure if this was Muruta's attempt to justify his misdeeds, she made a mental note not to let him lead her off track.

"The old man told me when we talked for the last time before his death."

"But- but… Natarle…" The initial shock had already subsided, yet Stellar found herself still in a state of confusion, unable to work her mind around what this revelation meant in terms of the bigger picture.

"Natarle is _not_ part of the family."

That set Stellar off again. "Does that justify Muruta's cruelty towards Natarle? Why must Muruta do this to Natarle?"

The fire within Muruta that was still there a short moment ago was lost, replaced by a slowly intensifying despondency. "Stellar, I don't want to talk about this."

She refused to stop until she got her answer. "Is it so important that Muruta must avenge for everything that doesn't happen as Muruta wishes?"

"I'm not avenging for anything."

"Then why is Muruta doing this? Why must Muruta hurt Natarle like this? Why-"

"Stellar, you don't _understand_." His voice was breaking, and Stellar finally sensed that there was something different about him. She quietened, letting him speak.

"I'm not doing this because I hate her. I'm doing this because I _need_ her." He pulled her close, seeking some sort of support, when the young blonde looked up, she saw that there was fear clouding those baby-blue eyes.

"Muruta?"

"Stellar, I need her. I lov-…" He stopped mid-word, as though this was not what he had intended to say in the first place, and he had no idea how that word came slipping out of his own mouth.

"Say that again, Muruta? Stellar couldn't hear you."

"I…"

"Muruta? What were you saying? Why does Muruta need Natarle?"

"I… I don't-" He tried to give an explanation, but nothing came out. In the end, he gave up entirely. "It's not something you would understand, Stellar."


	43. THIRTEEN

**THIRTEEN**

Strangely, Natarle was late for breakfast.

Natarle was never late if she could help it.

Remembering the conversation she had with Muruta the day before, Stellar suspected it probably had something to do with him. She glanced sideways at him, eyes scrutinizing, which he had returned her a stare that was full of incomprehension, declaring that even he had no idea what caused the woman's tardiness.

One moment he was drumming his fingers on the table, the next he was reaching for his cup of tea, and upon finding it empty, setting it down again with an impatient sigh. It had been a while already since he had finished breakfast, and he should be off by now, yet he was still here. In fact, it was rare enough for him to even be having his breakfast here with them—something that Stellar recalled happened no more than the amount she could count with both hands—and she deduced that he was staying behind deliberately; was he waiting for Natarle?

Stellar's mind went back to the memories of their last conversation. Muruta never did tell her what that unfinished sentence meant, and therefore Stellar could only speculate. Judging by the few short syllables she heard and the things he said prior, she believed, amongst all her guesses, that _'I love her'_ seemed the most apparent answer, but this was also the one made the least sense; why would Muruta do such hurtful things to Natarle if he loved her?

But there was something in his voice—that weakness and resignation vibrating through every syllable he sounded, until he finally gave up providing an explanation to his actions—that made everything so much more confusing for Stellar.

"What have you done, Natarle?" The alarmed voice that broke Stellar's chain of thoughts belonged to Fllay, whose eyes were wide with disbelief and a tinge of contempt. Everyone followed her gaze towards the door where Natarle was, having just arrived and started making her way towards her seat at the table, and it was all too obvious what it was that shocked Fllay so much.

Her beautiful hair—the silken obsidian that was the envy of every person who ever laid eyes or hands on it—had been cut considerably; its lengths, which had once reached all the way down to her waist, was now only just above her shoulders.

"I've cut it," she replied, her tone indifferent.

"I can see that!" Fllay sprung from her seat and marched towards Natarle's seat. "Why did you cut it?"

In a stark contrast to Fllay, Natarle remained unhurried, picking up a piece of bread from the basket as she answered, "I got tired of it."

"That's a lie! You're not a spontaneous person! Why would you do this? You've always been so proud of it, you'd never do this!"

"It's much easier this way. I prefer it like this."

"I don't like it! I don't like your hair like this! You look horrendous!"

Natarle flinched visibly, but her voice remained calm. "It's my hair, Fllay. I can cut it if I want to."

Rendered speechless, Fllay stood red-faced with fury, hoping her sister would at least show the tiniest hint of regret for her actions. But Natarle had not regretted one bit, and Fllay knew any effort she made would be futile. "Fine, do whatever you want! I don't care!" With that, she stormed out of the room.

Fllay had left, but Muruta was still there. Stellar had noticed him staring at Natarle all this time, undistracted by everything else. She could tell from the way his brows furrowed together that he was extremely dissatisfied as well by Natarle's decision to cut her hair—an utter dissatisfaction that almost bordered on anger, not unlike Fllay's reaction.

Stellar felt she had caught a hint of something—a sudden realisation—but as quickly as it came, it left just as, and she was not even sure what that moment of clarity was for when it crossed her mind.

After a while of him staring at Natarle, and Natarle completely ignoring him, Muruta decided to leave. He made a small snort as he stood up, and left the room.

It was only Natarle and Stellar left, and Lewis standing at the entrance some distance away.

Stellar quickly moved herself to the seat beside Natarle, and asked with a hushed voice that even Lewis could not hear them, "Why did you do it, Natarle?"

The young woman's expression changed; she was no longer looking disinterested as she was when Fllay asked the same question, and while far from being relaxed, she dropped the facade of stubborn insistence. She sighed heavily. "I don't know how to say this, Stellar, but it feels… _wrong_. He…"

Stellar edged closer. "He? Is it Muruta?"

Another long sigh escaped her. "He was being… rather strange last night," she said with a frown that was both troubled and agonized, and she had reached for the back of her neck, an action seemingly out of her own consciousness. "It's almost as though he was… trying to be… _affectionate_. And I was afraid."

"Afraid? Of what?"

"I don't know… Of- of what it means—what _he_ means—of what comes next, I suppose…" She bit her lip at the remembrance of disconcerting memories. "I can't explain it; it's just a feeling. All I knew when I woke this morning was that it had to be stopped. It's become too much, and I can't bear it anymore."

Stellar reached for the uneven edges of her hair and noticed how Natarle fought to suppress a shiver, all the while feeling a great pity for those soft dark locks as she imagined the moment they had been snipped off and discarded in a careless rush. She was starting to understand why Fllay and Muruta were so sullen about Natarle's decision, but if Natarle said it had to be done, then she would say nothing further.

"I know I did a poor job," Natarle said with a terse smile. "I was hoping that… maybe you could help me tidy it up?"

o-o-o

"You told Stellar about us?"

The voice was partly curious, partly disapproving, with a hint of delight sprinkled upon—like talking to a child whose clever prank had just been exposed—and Natarle immediately recognised it. She stopped in her tracks and as unwilling as she was, still turned around to face him.

Muruta let out a low, teasing laugh. "Where are you going?"

"Tea."

"Is it tea time already?" He asked with a mock interest in his tone, peering down the hallway and acknowledging that her destination was just around the corner. "Hmm, such beautiful weather today. Would you care to join me for a walk after you've had your tea?"

Natarle remained quiet, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Or if that's not entertaining enough for you, we can go into town for the evening," he suggested with exaggerated enthusiasm, "Whatever pleases you."

The more charming he tried to be, the harsher was Natarle's glare. "What do you want?"

Muruta was too used to her constant resentment to be deterred by this alone. "A little bit more of your time, perhaps? I thought you didn't mind my company too much after all, given that you told Stellar about us. You know, I really was surprised when I found out that Stellar knows, but I forgot to ask you about it last night when we were together. I was always under the impression that you'd prefer to keep it as our little _secret_."

"I didn't tell her," Natarle growled in detest of Muruta's misunderstanding. "She found out."

"Oh. Now that's a disappointment," he sighed dramatically. "Well, just so you know, she found out something else from me yesterday."

An anxious curiosity crept onto Natarle's face as much as she tried not to let it show.

He chuckled. "Would you like to know what it is?"

"No," she replied, looking away to emphasize her lack of interest, at the same time an attempt to disguise her unease. But it was useless; she was too easy to read.

"But it's important," he whined as though he was stressing the importance of having three sugars instead of two in his tea. And then his tone dropped, cold like the winter, "It's important that she knows you and Fllay are only _half_-sisters; that you are not Uncle George's child, and you're not one of us."

Natarle's violet eyes shot wide open, angry and apprehensive.

"It's alright. She's not a judgmental person; very forgiving, in fact, just like me." Taking a step forward, he slipped his hand behind her neck, pulling her close despite her resistance. She dared not speak, but the brilliant flame in her eyes told clearly of her disdain for him—such intense emotions, and they were all for him. He grinned. "Yes, I forgive you for doing such a stupid thing with your hair. You knew how fond I was of it, and you did it to spite me. But I forgive you."

As soon as the tension in his hand eased he felt her edging away from his grasp, and he found his hand easily caressing the ends of Natarle's shortened hair. He really did love that beautiful hair of hers; that exquisite, mysterious colour—the lush black, mixed with a majestic purple, an impeccable match against her ivory skin and gorgeous face—it had long become his favourite.

He licked his lips in anticipation of what reaction he could draw from Natarle by what he had to say next, but he tried not to let his smile give it away. "If you did it to make me prove that my interest in you is more than just for your appearances, then congratulations, you have succeeded. You will be glad to hear that despite this foolish mistake you have made, I still very much enjoy your _company_. I am not deterred, and I shall keep on visiting your room as much as I please."

He watched carefully, but he could not guess whether she was going to scream in frustration, or break down into a ruined mess; he wanted to see both, but she did neither, fighting to stay strong in front of him. She was trembling—her body was teeming with anger and desperation, and it looked like she was doing all that she could to hold it in, just so she wouldn't lose control of herself. Oh yes, she was fascinating.

There were tears brimming her eyes, but she would never let them fall—at least not in front of him; he knew she was too proud for that—and to mask her vulnerability she instead allowed her anger roam freely. "Is this a game to you?"

His shoulders raised into a half-shrug, just as his lips pulled into a half-grin. "Of course it's not a game; I genuinely enjoy my time with you. Do you not?"

He was about to carry on and taunt her a little more when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Was it his imagination? He thought he saw a figure reflected on the window glass a bit further down the corridor, and he panicked. He took a few urgent strides towards that direction, but upon reaching the spot, he had found no one there.

Whether or not it was his imagination, he had made a mistake. He had forgotten where they were, and that someone might overhear them.

He turned himself, and walked back to Natarle. "I should go now, I'll see you tonight," he declared, slowly stepping past her. She barely moved, not even sparing him a second glance to see that he was leaving for sure. It was expected, but he most absolutely hated that feeling of being ignored by her.

He spun back around to stop just behind her, and let cool hand run lightly down her back, like a slithering snake, and he relished the way it made her quiver—it always had this effect on her. Leaning in, he whispered into her ear, "You'll never be able to escape from me."

Her body tensed at hearing those words, and he allowed himself a small smile of victory as he bent down to leave a kiss on her neck.

It went satisfactorily, he concluded as he strode away. He need not admit anything, and still managed to ensure she unmistakeably understood that she would never be able to leave him.

He would never let her go. Never ever, even if she hated him; even if she would forever hate him.

Being confronted by Stellar made him see everything in a new light, and it was all clear to him now—this constant yearning for her, this eternal struggle to manipulate her and dominate over her—it could no longer be excused as a need to maintain his superiority, or a desire to impress her, or even a mere possessiveness over her.

He was in love with her.

He would never admit it; not to her, not to anyone else. But to himself, it had become too apparent, too encompassing, to overlook his own feelings—it was as impossible as standing in a forest and not seeing the trees. This was not what he had in mind at the very start.

It was simple back then. He had only wanted to ruin her.

He chose her because he needed an outlet for his rage towards the redhead—that old man's favourite grandchild, coincidentally his least favourite cousin. There weren't many people in the house suitable for such a _delicate_ role, so his choices were limited. Of course, he could have easily taken his anger out on the person who caused it in the first place, but he hated that girl with a passion, and he was not ready to deliver punishment at the expense of self-abuse.

And then there was also the other reason that he _simply_ found the strength and tenacity she possessed very irritating. He was the owner of Dominion Hall, and she was an insignificant person that he had so graciously allowed to stay in his house because she had nowhere else to go. She was supposed to submit to him, not to go up against him every time her sister got into a fight with him and went crying for help.

He wanted to crush her—her strength, her pride, her mind and soul—he wanted to break her into pieces, and he came up with the perfect plan.

It all changed there; that night, when he stepped into her room and brought his plan to action. She had fought back at first—of course she did—and it was the fiercest fight she had ever put up, to the extent that he felt he might be the one who ended up as the more injured party; but when he mentioned her sister's name, and all the cruel things he could have been doing to the girl instead, she had immediately ceased resisting.

That was the first, and whenever he was angry or upset, or just that he felt like it, he would go back again. He had believed for a rather long while that she was so strong, so in control of herself, that whatever he did had no effect on her, and he was losing this war, but soon enough he saw that he was wrong. He eventually figured he had been quite blind to not notice what had been right in front of him and yet he had overlooked for so long—that she was utterly afraid of him, yet would never back down out of fear; she would endure it, even willingly so, if that was what guaranteed her sister's safety.

That was the difference between them.

It hit him on one particular day; he can no longer remember what prompted it, but the memory of the day he brought Stellar with him and left his parents came back to him like a dawning light, and brought along his epiphany. He had run away from the life he detested. She had stayed.

Had she be given the choice; had she not have the burden of protecting her younger sister who was bound to this house, would she run away, like he did, or would she still stay and fight? This was a question that he kept asking himself, over and over, in the many days to come. It was just an innocent question; it had no real effect on him—or so he believed—and life went on as it had been.

But somehow, somewhere along, he fell in love.

It had transformed him, and his feelings for her. He would hurt her, and he would pity her; he would loathe himself for hurting her, yet he would let himself carry on. Because it was that strength of hers that had him captivated; she was strong—stronger than he ever was; than he could ever be. He wanted that. He wanted to conquer that. He wanted to _own_ that. And for the same reason, he wanted her.

Looking back, he had been rather successful with his goal—he had done a good deal of damage, just as he initially wanted.

Except now he needed to reverse that damage, and he had no idea how he was ever going to make it happen.


	44. FOURTEEN

**FOURTEEN**

It was mid-autumn, and Mwu couldn't say whether this was a good time for him to visit. He only knew that he had not enjoyed his last visit in the summer for one bit, and when time came for him to go home, it felt like he had three weeks of time stolen from him, because he could not recall one happy, memorable moment during his time in Dominion Hall. Something was very wrong, and he decided he had to come back; he felt he was being needed here, for some reason he could not explain. Of course, if he gave this as his reason for the visit, Natarle would definitely wave him off, telling him it was just a baseless hunch.

But the thing was, his hunches usually turned out pretty accurate.

He could almost already prove that he had it correct too this time. It had been only two months since his last visit, and everything seemed so different from when he last left this place. He had been here for three days now, which he had yet to see a conversation between Fllay and Natarle that lasted longer than five sentences and consisted of more than ten words each. He had only seen Muruta once, in the evening of his second day here, when he stumbled through the door, pathetically drunk, and Lewis—with the look of someone who saw this often enough and was finally starting to be fed up with it—had to have someone carry his half-conscious person back to his own room. He was gone again the next morning. There was also that queerness of Stellar being perpetually paranoid about not mentioning her brother's name in front of Natarle, yet she would keep her mouth firmly shut every time Mwu tried to pry the reason from her. He had even gone to the servants to look for answers or clues, but none of them seemed to know anything except the fact that the atmosphere around the house was strange. Or if they did know, then they were hiding it incredibly well.

And then there was Natarle. He still hadn't found a chance to sit down with her for the good, long talk he wanted. She was being extremely elusive, and he had only been able to catch her during meals; whenever he asked for some of her time, she would make up excuses to brush him off, and he was _very_ sure she was not as busy as she wanted him to think she was.

He knew because he had been secretly following her today, and found that all she did during those times she told him she was busy was hide in her room. She probably had intended to avoid him since receiving news that he was coming to visit, and had already come up with a well-considered plan on how to ensure she could successfully keep him away.

Mwu decided to take action. Walking up to her door, he took in a deep, calming breath, and knocked on it. "Natarle, it's me."

He waited a while, but there was no response; he was about to knock again when the door finally opened, with Natarle standing behind it. "What is it?" she asked, her tone both uninterested and intolerant.

Despite that he was actually getting rather nervous about the imminent conversation and not knowing what Natarle's mood and responses may be—and to be fair, he was not a person who would get nervous easily—he gave the most cheery smile he could manage. "I feel like spending some time outside, and I'd like some company. Would you like to join me?"

"No," Natarle flatly refused.

He grumbled in protest. "But the sun is lovely; it's a perfect day to spend outdoors!"

"Yes, it seems so. Go on then, take a walk, go for a ride, or sit by the lake for a while; whatever it is that suits you," she threw the suggestions out impatiently, yet sounding not interested in any of them at all. He raised a questioning brow, and she continued, "But I'm not going. I don't have time for you now."

"Then what are you doing?" he challenged.

"I'm busy with my own things, none of which are any of your business."

She was going to retreat and close the door in his face, but Mwu was quick enough to stop her, fixing the door in place before she could shut it by leaning on it with all his weight. "Wait, Natarle, don't shut me out."

"What do you want?" she asked again, exasperated this time.

"I want to talk to you. I know things didn't go well between us during my summer visit, and in these few weeks I've been thinking how we can make it better again. You know, I _did_ write to you saying I'd be dropping by to see you."

She was not moved, and the irritation in her voice persisted. "And I replied saying you could do as you pleased."

"So why aren't you spending time with me?"

"I never said I would, and I don't have to."

"Natarle-"

"Leave me alone, Mwu."

"I promised your mother."

Natarle stared at him, not quite sure why he said this, and what it even was that he was referring to. But it was her Mama he was talking about, and she needed to know. "What do you mean?"

"I promised your mother I would take care of you after she's gone." She narrowed her eyes judgingly, and he realised he might have worded his thoughts in a rather unpolished way, causing her to misinterpret his intentions. He ran his hand through his hair, a habit of his whenever he was feeling uneasy—such as a moment like now, when he needed to explain himself. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I'm doing this because it's a responsibility. I just want you to know that I made the promise to Aunt Elizabeth in the first place because I do care about you very much, and I want you to be happy. But I can see that you're not, and to see you sad makes me miserable too."

The flicker of brightness reflected in her eyes showed a sudden comprehension—clearly she still was not entirely convinced, but Mwu knew that this time, with these words, his sincerity had finally reached her. This was the opportunity he was looking for to win his way back into her favour.

"Tell me about your problems, Natarle. Let me help you."

Her gaze, heavy with conflict, landed steadily on him, and she stared at him like that for a very long while. Mwu felt an odd panic building up within him—as though this was his last chance; as though she was standing on the edge of a cliff in front of him, fully prepared to jump, and she was either going to come back towards him with a grateful 'yes', or take that final leap off in an adamant refusal. She was going to make her decision, and he wanted to do something—anything—to tilt the scales in his favour, yet at the same time he knew it would only have an adverse effect if he pushed too hard. He let out a hefty sigh that hinted of disappointment, and was reassured by her response—her brows pulled together in an apologetic manner, a hint that her defence was waning. This was the opening he was looking for, and he seized it—letting his voice drop into a tone of hesitance, he asked, "Do you no longer trust me?"

"I do!" Natarle's reply was quick as reflex. "But I- I can't _tell_ you… There are some things… and I don't want you to think…"

She was trembling lightly, and the agony in her struggle to refuse him was genuine; Mwu understood her well enough to know that there were some things that simply could not be forced. Yet there was a part of her—with her unsaid words, her flushed cheeks, and tears brimming around her eyes—that told him she was desperately crying for help.

He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to tell me things you don't want me to know. Just let me know what I can do to help. If there are things you don't want to talk about, say it, and I promise I won't push you."

There was still a bit of doubt in her eyes, so he repeated again, solely for her comfort, "I promise."

The tension in her features quickly eased, and her lips slid into a small smile. For the first time since a rather long while, Mwu finally felt relaxed when being with her. Returning a satisfied grin, he asked, "So will you take a walk with me now?"

It only took her a quick moment of consideration before she nodded in agreement, much to Mwu's joy. He swiftly led the way, eager to get them both outside, away from the suffocating gloominess pervading within the house. The instant they reached the garden, he breathed in the fresh air greedily and stretched himself, as though he had just been through hours of hard work. "I wouldn't have noticed that I actually missed these walks in the garden with you if we didn't come out here today. Can we do this more often?"

The corner of her lips turned upwards with a hint of delight. "I suppose so."

"And I missed your smile."

The pleasure in her expression faded against her wishes; she was trying to feign an indifference towards his comment, but Mwu noticed the tell-tale quiver of her lips. "There aren't really that many things to smile for in this house anymore," she answered, her helplessness light but clearly present in her voice.

This he had guessed, but he chose not to comment; there was simply no way of responding without sounding like he was poking on an open wound. There were too many questions he wanted to ask, each and every one of them with a distinct possibility of falling under her categorization as an off-limits subject, so he decided to start with the most obvious one, hoping that it was also the safest one. "What happened to your hair?"

Her shoulders pulled together awkwardly, and he could not figure whether it was a shrug or a suppressed shiver. "I got tired of it."

"It's _very_ short," Mwu commented, his tone clearly implying his scepticism in how unnecessarily short her hair was.

"It's more convenient this way."

He raised an eyebrow, but she clumsily avoided his gaze, and he immediately recognised that he was approaching the verge of an untouchable matter. Backing off, he asked a different question, "What's going on between you and Fllay?"

She cringed, which was already not a good sign. He was about to change the subject yet again to spare her from another awkward attempt to dodge the topic, but halted himself when he noticed how she bit on her lip very lightly as a preparation to speak. A moment of uneasy silence passed, but fortunately his patience was not wasted.

"She doesn't like my haircut, and she's making sure she reminds me of the fact often enough. I don't understand why she must be so angry about it for so long, but she is."

"I think I do understand where she's coming from. Really, has anyone expressed an approval of your new hairstyle?"

Natarle attempted a glare, albeit rather unsuccessfully—there was something akin to melancholy in her expression that had weakened the effect—yet Mwu knew intuitively that this was probably not the best joking material. He quickly added, "Though, there really is no reason for her to be angry at you. You have the right to do whatever you like to your hair."

"Of course I do," she answered matter-of-factly.

"So what are you going to do with her?"

A heavy sigh accompanied her shrug, "I should probably wait for her anger to simmer down? Though I'm not sure how long that would take; we've never quarrelled like this before." Then as though inspiration struck, she swirled around to look at him with intent eyes and a glint of new hope. "What do _you_ suggest I should do?"

"H-hold on," Mwu said, faintly overwhelmed by her sudden expectation of some form of reliable help from him. "I don't even have any brothers or sisters, how would I know what to do?"

"You have friends."

"Well, yes… But we never get into any _real_ fights; all we ever get into are childish banters, and it's completely different."

"So, there's nothing I can do?"

The disappointment in her question made it clear that it was a rhetorical one, and Mwu felt both pity for her and an intense need to smack himself for his unhelpfulness. "Hmm, I think… maybe you can try talking to her? Just sit down with her and ask her why she's still angry at you, and if there's anything you can do to make her not angry."

"But she doesn't even want to talk to me."

"Well, tell her it's important. Maybe get Luna to persuade her." He paused to think over his suggestion, and nodded to himself confidently. "Yes, that might be the best thing to do. She can't stay mad at you forever."

And soon enough he would find out that this was the biggest mistake he had ever made.

o-o-o

Taking in a deep breath to compose herself, Lunamaria lightly knocked twice on the door to the morning room and stood patiently waiting.

Very seldom would Natarle request her to go and see her alone, and judging from Miriallia's manner when she relayed the message, Fllay was most likely the reason that landed her here.

"Please come in," Natarle's voice sounded from the other side of the door. Opening the door, Lunamaria found Natarle sat in front of her working desk, her eyes immediately brightened upon seeing who it was, and she had even set down whatever she was working on to give her full attention to Lunamaria.

"Miss Natarle, I believe you wanted to see me?" Lunamaria queried carefully.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for coming," she replied with gratitude and a light flush of pink on her cheeks. Her hands went to the fabrics of her dress and started scrunching them, an uncharacteristic show of nervousness, and her voice was much softer than Lunamaria was used to hearing. "I was hoping to ask you for a favour."

The uncertainty in her tone and her modest choice of words only convinced Lunamaria further that what she was about to ask was regarding Fllay. After spending these few years in Dominion Hall, if there was one definite thing that Lunamaria had learnt, it was that Natarle was almost invincible, save for her one certain weakness, and that was her own little sister. Their relationship had always reminded Lunamaria of the times at home with Meyrin, before she had to leave for employment here, which was why Lunamaria had always felt she was the one person in the house who could relate to them most.

She was fond of both sisters; when it came to Natarle, she had first feared her because of her seeming aloofness and high standards, but then she gradually learnt to admire her for her dependability and the hidden soft side of her, and eventually, she even began to sympathise the young woman for the hardships she went through. With Fllay, it was much more straightforward—they were similar in age, compatible in character, and the fact that she looked like Meyrin had decisively set Lunamaria's affection for her in stone. And to see her two favourite people in this house stay in a fight for so long was quite upsetting for her too, which she definitely wanted to help put an end to it.

Gathering her courage, Lunamaria went straight to the point and asked, "Is it regarding Miss Fllay, Miss Natarle? Would you like me to talk to her?"

Natarle looked surprised—but only slightly. "Ah, so it seems you've noticed it too."

The young maid returned a feeble smile as her silent admission.

"It's something I need to do myself. She's angry at me, and I don't want you to be caught in the middle of our fight. I suspect she's angry at me for more than just my haircut anyway."

Lunamaria nodded in understanding. "How can I help you then, Miss Natarle?"

"Can you tell Fllay that I need to talk to her? I've been trying to get hold of her, but she's always avoiding me."

"Of course I can help you with that, Miss Natarle, I'm more than happy to be of your assistance, but… I'm just a maid; I'm just not sure Miss Fllay will be willing to listen to me."

"She will, Lunamaria. You're closer to her than anybody else, and she sees you as your confidant. She's most likely to listen to you, and I think if you were the one who asked, she'd be more agreeable. Tell her that it's important. Let me know when she prefers to talk; I can try to accommodate her as much as possible."

The fact that the mistress of the house had so much faith in her was somewhat overwhelming for Lunamaria, and she knew for sure that she did not want to disappoint. She bowed deeply, bending herself slightly more than usual. "I promise I'll do my best, Miss Natarle."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"I'm still angry at her!"

With all the time she had spent with Fllay, Lunamaria was familiar with the girl's temperament well enough to know that she was not one to be easily persuaded when she had her mind set on something else. Sometimes, Lunamaria would make the effort to understand her; others, she would spend that same effort on refraining herself from losing patience at the girl's stubbornness. And right this moment, Lunamaria was sure she was leaning slowly towards the latter.

"But Miss Fllay, it's only a haircut; it's not something that can't be undone by time."

"No, Luna! It's not _only_ the haircut. Don't you understand?"

The young maid suppressed a sigh. "I'm afraid I'm don't, Miss Fllay."

"Don't you see it?" Fllay cried in exasperation, her eyes wide with disbelief of her closest companion's apparent blindness. "She's changed, Luna! She's changed so much that I don't understand her anymore!"

It was Lunamaria who showed incomprehension this time. "Changed? What do you mean by that, Miss Fllay?"

"Luna, she's always siding with Muruta now; she no longer defends me like how she used to. She doesn't say it, but I know she must be blaming me for all the fights between me and Muruta."

"Miss Fllay, I don't think she's siding with Mr. Muruta; I think she's just trying her best to resolve the fights, and when she does, Mr. Muruta is willing to comply."

"You keep saying that, but have you not noticed the looks exchanged between her and Muruta? They look at each other as though they know the conversation isn't over, as though they can speak freely only when they are out of my sight! They're keeping secrets, I know that!"

Fllay's suspicion rang a bell for Lunamaria, and she recalled the conversation she overheard some time ago.

She hadn't meant to eavesdrop that day; she was merely in the wrong place, at the wrong time. She had made a lucky escape, and had wanted nothing but to forget about it all and stay away from trouble. But right this moment, it looked like the mistake was probably going to turn out useful for answering some significant questions.

She remembered that day clearly—those things that Muruta had said and done, and Natarle, while angry, was still tolerant of him—and she had tried to convince herself that she had understood the situation wrongly, but the more she thought about their conversation, the more certain she was that what she had witnessed was some sort of lovers' quarrel. She knew that if she had made a wrong assumption, it would be the worst sort of treachery against Natarle, but if what if she really was having an affair with Muruta? Her loyalty was torn—should she guard Natarle's secret, or should she give Fllay the truth?

And then there was also that part where Muruta mentioned that Natarle and Fllay were half-sisters; was it even true?

"You know something, don't you?" Fllay's voice pierced through Lunamaria's thoughts. "What is it, Luna? Tell me!"

"I… Miss Fllay, what would you do if… if Miss Natarle chose to be with Mr. Muruta?"

"Chose to be with him?" Fllay asked with wide eyes, as though the question she had been asked made no sense at all. "What could you possibly mean by that?"

"I meant exactly by what I said, Miss Fllay. What if Miss Natarle was going to _be_ with him? What if they were in love with each other and, say, she was going to marry him one day?"

Fllay laughed with sarcasm laced in her disbelief. "Luna, can you even hear yourself? It's not possible. It's not. She would _never_."

Lunamaria was much less assured; if her speculation was correct, then a lot of things would start to make sense—in particular that intensive way in which Muruta always watched Natarle, and those fleeting and seemingly accidental touches he would steal when he thought no one was watching. And right this moment, Lunamaria knew she had herself convinced. "I've seen them together. They were quarrelling, but… the way Mr. Muruta touched Miss Natarle was… very _intimate_."

Realising that Lunamaria was entirely serious with her notion, Fllay gasped as apprehension finally sank in. "But- but they can't! That man already has a fiancée!"

"But you said it yourself, that the two of them seems to be keeping secrets between themselves. What if this love affair was their secret? What if they wanted to be together instead of Mr. Muruta marrying Miss Adelaide? And what if they even have Miss Stellar's support?"

"But what about me? Natarle wouldn't do that to me!"

"Wouldn't you be happy for Miss Natarle if she had her own family? What if she'd be happier too?"

"She does already have a family! She has me!"

"But you're only half-sisters-" Before the words had left her mouth entirely, Lunamaria already knew she was in trouble. She had never seen such an expression on Fllay's face—she looked every part of a person that was utterly confused, yet still comprehended enough to realise that she was on the suffering end of some form of deceit.

Fear and vulnerability was evident in Fllay's voice, "What did you say? What is that supposed to mean?"

"A-aren't you and Miss Natarle half-sisters? Is it not true? But I thought… he said even Miss Stellar knows…"

"Who told you that? How would you know? Answer me, Luna!"

"I- I overheard Mr. Muruta talking to Miss Natarle the other day. He said she's not Mr. George's daughter, and she didn't deny it… so I thought it must be true. I'm sorry, Miss Fllay, I must have made a mistake -"

Fllay's face paled, then, as comprehension dawned, it turned red with anger. "No, Luna, I think you might be right. You must be; it explains _everything_." She got up from her seat, grey eyes ablaze as she hastily marched out of her room.

Lunamaria followed quickly, knowing exactly where she was heading—except she had wanted Fllay to go there and settle things with Natarle peacefully, and now it seemed more of the opposite—like she had drawn in the thunderclouds and was powerless to prevent the storm from happening.

She only prayed that there would still be remnants of their siblinghood the two sisters could salvage after the disaster.

o-o-o

The door to the small parlour opened with a loud bang, startling the three occupants within—Stellar yelped, Natarle almost jumped from her seat, and Erica had only narrowly avoided knocking over the teapot in front of her. Despite the initial fright, Natarle was still pleased to see that it was Fllay who had arrived, but from the way she rushed towards her, every stomp of her feet forceful and angry, with Lunamaria following behind anxiously, she knew from the dread that was slowly building in the pits of her heart that this was not the time to be happy.

"Fllay, is something the matter?" Sensing trouble as well, Stellar queried with the most pacifying voice she could manage.

"You!" Disregarding Stellar's question, Fllay instead pointed her finger accusingly at Natarle. "You liar! Traitor!"

Perplexed, Natarle asked, "Why would you say that?"

"Stop pretending! I know now; why you always side with that man! I know everything now! I cannot believe you've lied to me for so many years! You're not Papa's daughter! You don't belong with the Allster family!"

No sound was made except for the fretful gasp from Natarle—a realisation that the secret she had put so much effort in keeping was no longer one. "How… did you know?"

"Does it matter? Does it matter any more than what you have done? Is this why you betrayed me and chose that despicable man instead? Is this why you are willing to give yourself to him, so that you can secure your place in the wretched house?"

Natarle's eyes widened as she listened to the string of the accusations Fllay threw at her. All she ever wanted was for Fllay to be safe, but never had she anticipated that it was this same desire that would lose her the girl's trust, and everything else. Her heart was beating mad, and she could already see the life they once shared—the one past she treasured, with the hopes of reliving it as the only motivation that kept her going—come tumbling down to pieces.

"No! Fllay, it's not what you think- I did not choose him over you! I didn't…" Her mind was in a mess; there were too many things to explain, but she did not even know where to start. Natarle reached for her sister, but the redhead look an immediate step back, her hands covering her ears as her refusal to listen any further.

Natarle made one more attempt to reach out, but Fllay smacked her hand away. "You disgust me! Don't ever come near me again!"

She ran off, and Natarle immediately gave chase.

Having witnessed the whole argument, Erica turned to Stellar and requested urgently, "Miss Stellar, please go after them."

"But what shall Stellar do?" The young blonde asked in panicked confusion.

"Just make sure they're alright, and see if you can calm them down. I don't feel good about this; it's a very delicate situation, they're both distressed, and I'm afraid they'll do something drastic. Come on now, we need to act fast."

"What shall I do then, Mrs. Simmons?" Lunamaria enquired for instructions.

"Luna, you go find Mr. Mwu now. Go quickly, both of you. I'll get Mr. Halberton."

The two girls nodded without further hesitation, and went off to their respective ways.

o-o-o

"Fllay!" Natarle chased down the stairs; it was difficult keeping up with the redhead, despite she could run faster than her. Every time she caught hold of Fllay, the girl would find a way to struggle free—using even violence whenever necessary—and more than once Natarle had to pick herself up from the floor before continuing on the chase. She heard Stellar's faint cries from somewhere behind, but she could not afford to be distracted now.

Fllay was not too far away, and just as she reached the turn of the stairs where the distance between them closed, Natarle reached one hand out and grabbed her by her arm, her other holding tight onto the rail to prevent being pushed over again.

"Fllay, you need to listen to me," she urged. "Just for a moment."

"Let go, don't touch me! Get your filthy hands off of me!"

"Fllay, what's happened between Muruta and I is not what you think-"

"Enough of your lies! I won't ever trust you again! You're not even my sister anymore! Don't ever come near me again!"

"What's going on here?"

Natarle need not turn to look down the stairs to know who the person who had just spoken was, but she did so just to make sure, because of the unusual drawl of his voice. He would only speak like that when he had been drinking, which he clearly had been—his footsteps were wobbly, and his face was rather red.

But she was not going to deal with Muruta now; there were more important things at hand.

"Please stop for a moment," she asked of the girl who was still doing her best to escape. "I never lied, Fllay; I might not have been entirely truthful, but I never did anything to betray you. Just listen for a while."

"No, I won't listen. Let go, you wench!" Fllay screamed with a voice so loud that every word she spoke echoed down the spiralling staircase. Amidst her struggle a loud slap was heard; Natarle was still trying to figure out where the sound came from, then, in delayed reaction, she registered the burning pain on her left cheek.

Fllay had slapped her.

The girl's brutality was a sharp dagger that stabbed straight into Natarle's heart; her dearest sister—the one single person she had loved ceaselessly and unconditionally throughout her entire life—had decided that she was no longer worthy.

She did not know what else she could do anymore, or if there was anything at all that could be done. She stood unmoving, stunned, and watched as Fllay used her free hand to loosen the grip on her other. Was there even a point to keep holding on?

With one determined pull, Fllay finally released herself from Natarle's hold, and she quickly turned to leave, but just as she spun around she saw that there was a figure in front of them two, blocking off her way.

"How dare you hit your sister!" Muruta yelled into her face, grabbing her by her arm and thus rendering her captive again. Fllay tried to push him away, but despite his drunkenness, he was still much stronger than Natarle; she needed to escape with another method. She hammered her fist onto him repeatedly—his shoulder, his chest, his face; anywhere she could land her attack, and as hard as she could hit—and yelled back at him, "This is between us, and it's none of your business!"

Perhaps the alcohol had numbed his senses, because he seemed unaffected by neither the volume of her voice nor the force of her punches. "Apologise to her! Now!"

"No!"

"I said apologise!"

"Never!" She kicked him in the knee, causing him to fall a little, but the moment he stood back up, she regretted ever making such a move—his eyes were a blend of fire and ice; eyes of a ruthless, vengeful monster that would settle for no less than her death. He reached for her neck, gripping onto it as though he could squeeze the words out from her throat if he applied enough force.

"Apologise!"

"L-let… go…" she sputtered in between difficult gasps of air, "I- I can't… breathe…"

Intuition told Natarle that Muruta's grasp onto his sanity was only as sturdy as holding a large rock by a tattered thread. She had immediately launched forward, trying everything in her power to separate the two apart. "Let go of her!"

"She needs to apologise!" The strength of his hands grew along with the intensity of his insistence, and the paler Fllay's face became.

Powerless to remove Muruta's hand, Natarle focused on at least loosening it enough to give Fllay air. "She can't breathe!"

"Then she does as I say!" His grip hardened even more.

"Stop… him…" Fllay begged.

"Just focus on breathing, Fllay," Natarle pleaded, but the girl's gasps became shallower, the life within her leaving little by little with each pathetic wheeze of air she exhaled.

Fear spread like wildfire, burning every last bit of hope she had into ashes—the girl was going to die. Her _sister_ was going to die.

"_Please_ stop, Muruta!"

"No!"

His nails were digging into the white flesh on Fllay's neck, and blood was beginning to seep through the scratches. Natarle was desperate. Her heart was beating mad, yet at the same time heavier than she had ever felt it be, and she wanted to cry. "Muruta, I _beg_ you, please, let her go!"

But he was unrelenting.

"Not before she says she's sorry for hitting you!"

"You're going to kill her-"

"She _deserves_ to die!"

Such simple words, and all of Natarle's emotions came untethered.

She didn't know what exactly it was that gave her the resolve to take that one step forward, or the strength to give that final push—the resolution of making the decision to put an end to it.

There were too many things—and for too long periods of time—in her life that she had detested yet tolerated: the suppressed anger towards Muruta's abuse, the frustration of Fllay's indifference, the widening distance between Mwu and her, and—perhaps the most definitive yet unsolvable problem—the inevitability of her powerlessness over her very own life. When she later looked back, she thought maybe that precise moment in her life was for her what people called crossing the threshold, a desperate attempt to get over with all her troubles. Maybe it was revenge, payback at Muruta for the hurt he had caused to Fllay and her, but at the price of her sister becoming collateral. Or maybe it was pure instinct, to save her sister, but mostly—and as much as she wanted to deny it—to save herself. But right that moment, she was too confused to even comprehend what had happened, let alone spend a second trying to decipher her own emotions.

In the state of disarray, she heard the sound of Stellar crying in the background, screaming for her brother. She looked at the young girl, and then towards the direction of her attention, and at the bottom of the staircase she saw two people lying on the floor, noiseless and unmoving.

She got up, and step by step, descended down the stairs slowly, hesitant. She checked Fllay first, and then Muruta, and then Fllay again. And after she had confirmed her understanding of the situation, she went back over to Muruta, and knelt down beside him wordlessly.

A few moments passed—perhaps seconds, perhaps minutes, she couldn't tell—and a voice was heard, "Good grief, what was that loud noise? We heard it from all the way down the corridor. Natarle-"

A familiar face appeared in front of her, looking in utter disbelief. She remembered this face, but she was too out of focus that it felt like it took a lifetime of memories to recall his name.

"Natarle, what's happened here?" The man asked again, and there was panic in his voice.

"He's dead, Mwu. I've killed him."

* * *

**Author's note**

So… Did anyone ever feel sorry for Muruta at any point of the story? Just curious. I personally ended up liking him more than I thought I would, so for me, yes I do feel sorry for him, despite his wrongdoings. And it's such a complicated relationship between him and Natarle that even _I_ kind of wish things happened differently for him…

I can't help but think that if Muruta hadn't died, and had been able to change himself for the better and redeem himself, Natarle would have found a way to forgive and accept him—it probably wouldn't be love, at least most certainly not the kind of perfect love she has with Arnold, but perhaps a slightly awkward, bittersweet affection that comes from her appreciation for Muruta's willingness to change for her. And I think that, at a subconscious level, these peculiar feelings she has for Muruta were already sowed, just that she's not yet aware of it, which is why she's got such an immense amount of guilt that she can't let go of.

To ACHACHACHA: Thanks so much for your reviews! I hope you enjoyed the new chapter, and I suppose it should help answer most of your questions (for now)? You're quite spot on with the observation that once the curtains were pulled open, the focus had shifted. For me, everything behind the curtains are of the past—Muruta, the slumbering 'real' Fllay, the secrets of Dominion Hall—but now that the past has been fully revealed, next chapter onwards we'll be going back to the 'present'! Five more chapters to go, hope you'll enjoy them as well! Once again, thanks very much for your reviews and ongoing support! :)


	45. Let it All Fall Down

**Let it All Fall Down**

"That night Mwu and Mr. Halberton brought Muruta's body to the cliff and sank Muruta into the ocean, and then Mrs. Simmons called for Dr. Clyne to see what could be done about Fllay. Mrs. Simmons told Dr. Clyne that Fllay had taken a misstep and fell down the stairs, and of course, didn't mention anything about Muruta. But Muruta's disappearance could not be hidden for too long, and if anyone found out that Fllay had an accident around the same time, they would suspect something had happened. So Mrs. Simmons asked Dr. Clyne to keep Fllay's situation a secret, knowing he could be trusted at least with this, and Dr. Clyne immediately agreed without asking questions.

At first Natarle wouldn't agree to our plan; she wanted take responsibility for it, but Stellar had begged her not to leave. Muruta was gone, Fllay was unconscious, and Mwu would have to leave soon. With Natarle away, Stellar would have been all alone. So Natarle agreed to stay until Fllay woke up from her sleep. This is how it all happened."

The room fell into absolute silence for the moment after Stellar had finished her account of the incident, and then the deadening muteness was suddenly ripped apart by a loud thump—it was the sound of Mwu's fury, resonating within the walls where he landed his fist as an outlet of anger.

"That bastard, I never knew he had been doing such things to her," he mumbled under his breath, hoping that Stellar hadn't heard him, but not caring enough to retract his words even if she did.

And she did. Her head lowered a little, an apology on her late brother's behalf. "Even if it wasn't an accident, Stellar had never blamed Natarle. Natarle still does though. Don't you see now why she never refuses anything Stellar asks of her? From how Natarle sees it, Muruta's death was her revenge, and she regrets it. Even after all this time, Natarle is still unable to let go of her guilt."

"But…" Murrue started with a hesitant voice, "If she was willing to stay for Stellar, then why not tell the inspector that the fight was only between Muruta and Fllay, and leave Natarle out of it? Surely no one can blame her if she hadn't played a part in it."

It was Mwu who answered her question, with an odd laugh that sounded nothing like relief, but a lot like irritation. "You know when Stellar said how she still feels guilty? That's why. If we told that story, then Natarle would have to live with that lie forever, and she won't do it—even if it meant her freedom. You can ask her to lie for Stellar's sake, but she would never lie for her own."

"Then can we not just tell the truth?" Murrue suggested, "It _was_ an accident; surely Inspector Durandal will understand." Despite her question, uncertainty filled every word she spoke; even she was aware that there was little chance her wish would become reality.

"We can't," Mwu answered with a pessimistic sureness. "That man has already condemned Natarle in his mind; all he needs now is the proof to convict her, and Natarle will be more than happy to give him what he wants."

"Is there nothing to convince her otherwise?"

"There is one person." It was Stellar who answered Murrue's question this time, though there was no more hope in her voice than there was in Mwu's. "But we all know Fllay won't be willing to help."

Mwu nodded in sombre agreement. "And even if she were, the chance has passed. I know Natarle; the moment she openly admitted her fault was the moment she had made her mind up. She said it aloud because she didn't want to give herself the chance to go back on it."

"So what will we do, Mwu?" Stellar tugged on Mwu's sleeve urgently; she hated to have to put so much pressure on him, but they didn't have the luxury of time. "We've only got very little time left before tomorrow comes."

"I don't know yet, I need more time to think." He crossed his arms in front of his chest as he leaned onto the wall, brows in a deep frown as he thought out loud, "But I believe we will need Lewis and Erica's help. Whatever we do, we need to make sure that the staff won't become a loophole in our plan."

Murrue immediately got up from her seat. "Let me go find them," she offered, and headed towards the door. But upon reaching the exit, she stopped abruptly with a loud gasp, and turned back around at them, her finger pointing towards the edge of the door. "It's open. There's someone out there."

They all looked at her with shock in their eyes. As much as they were safe inside the house, Mwu still worried that whoever it was behind the door would harm her, and he had quickly raced towards her. He got to her side, and with him as her courage, she pulled the door wide open.

The first thing that came to their senses was the soft weeping sound, and next was the image of the girl who stood alone, crying in the darkness—her tears were subsiding, yet there was no end to the regret shown in her eyes.

"Fllay?" Murrue gasped.

Mwu was just as surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I- I didn't understand… why every one of you… wanted to help her so much," she struggled to speak between her hiccups. "I didn't understand why… after all that she did to me… there would still be people who are willing stand up for her. I came back… be-because I needed… answers."

Murrue pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket and started wiping the girl's tears away, but suddenly her hand was caught by Fllay's, who was now staring at her with an intensity she had never seen before. "It- it's a lie," she insisted with only words, because it was obvious in her tone that even she did not believe herself. "She wouldn't do this for me. Please tell me it's a lie."

The girl had finally known the truth, and realised that she had misunderstood her sister all along.

Mwu sighed dejectedly—if only she had known sooner. Murrue gently took Fllay's hand into her own, and her voice both kind and certain she replied, "It's not a lie. She did do it for you, because she wanted to protect you."

"But why would she sacrifice so much for me? No one would ever do that! It's too much!"

"It's because she believes you're worth the sacrifice. This is how important you are to her." Murrue wiped away the tears on Fllay's left cheek, and before she could do the same to the other, the girl had already found her way into Murrue's embrace.

"I didn't know. I hadn't even thought for a moment that she would place me before herself. And think of all the spiteful things I said to her! Think of all the pain I've caused her! What shall I do now?"

A large hand landed softly on the top of her head, and Fllay turned her head to see that it was Mwu. "That's what we're going to figure out now," he assured her.

The two of them led Fllay into the room, where Stellar had welcomed Fllay with a warm hug, and the redhead returning it with much appreciation and regret.

"I'm sorry," Fllay said to Stellar when she finally pulled herself away. "I'm so sorry I did what I did to Natarle and you."

With a small, understanding smile, Stellar replied, "Fllay will need to say that to Natarle herself."

"Yes, I will do that." She nodded with resolution, and then turned to the rest of them. "You will get her out of this trouble, won't you?"

"Of course we will," Mwu answered, and next to him, Murrue gave an assuring smile.

But there was no answer from Arnold. He sat still in his armchair, fingers interlocked in front of him and his chin settled on top—he sat too still, and kept his stare at the empty space before him, as though he hadn't paid heed to the conversation at all.

"Arnold, say something, won't you?" Murrue urged.

He looked up to her, and there was a quiet flame in his emerald eyes that despite the rage it exemplified, it reminded her of the cold winter chills. She bit her lip, suppressing the shiver that came with the worry growing in her stomach.

She remembered that Arnold Neumann's wrath was a dangerous thing.

Stellar leaned forward with pleading eyes, and carefully reminded him, "You promised you'd never abandon her."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence before he finally opened his mouth to speak, and when he did, his words were curt, irate, and dripping with sarcasm.

"How am I to abandon her if she's already decided she doesn't need me?"


End file.
